That is Not Dead Which Can Eternal Lie
by Netherworld
Summary: When a mysterious vampire returns to Skyrim, things quickly go downhill. Fire-breathing dragons and religious sects rise once more to persecute her in unison, and as if that weren't enough, At'Ria's cold heart is again besieged by feelings she had long thought forgotten. Rated M for explicit femslash, violence and swearing; my dovahkiin is not a nice person. You've been warned.
1. Welcome to Skyrim

Hey guys!

I know my other stories haven't been updated in quite some time, but what with the hectic school curriculum and all the other stuff I do, I haven't been able to write much. I promise I'll get to it now that I have a bit more time.

**This**, however, is the scary offspring of me starting to play Skyrim again and finally getting around to downloading Dawnguard. I like Serana a lot, and we all know she's awesome, and frankly, she's the only companion who can keep up with my crazy dovahkiin/assassin/thief/adventurer, so... this is pretty much me using her as an excuse to write my own TES fanfiction. I promise there will be sexy vampire/vampire smut, though! And probably some D/s elements too, depending on which turn this story decides to take.

In any case, I apologize in advance for all the inconsistencies I commit (please, point them out, I'll gladly correct them, if I can) but I promise to do my best to avoid them. Unless I explicitly state that I'll be changing some stuff and/or adding some (because there isn't much to go on in the wiki regarding some things), every mistake is a product of me writing too fast and being too lazy to proof-read. yeah.

so this is pretty much it. Hope you like this, and don't forget to review! I can only improve if you tell me what you think I'm doing wrong. ;)

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FUS RO DAH

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_Of all the days…_

The woman lamented her fate as the mists around the mountain began to disperse in favor of the early morning light. Most of the year, Skyrim was a gloomy, dank, sunless place; most of the year, except today, it seemed.

She shook her grimy and tousled auburn hair until they feel forth and covered her face. Now with at least a modicum of protection from the aggressive glare above her, the woman cast her gaze to her surroundings.

Directly in front of her was a blonde Nord dressed in Stormcloak blue, on the far end of the wagon sat a miserable, dirty youngling, and to her right was… her target.

Her eyes narrowed as she peered at the gagged man through the curtain of her tangled hair. He was staring impassively into a point somewhere beyond the young milkdrinker. He, too, was dressed in the colors of his insurrectionists, with the difference of a heavy fur cloak draped over his shoulders. For a moment, she mused why they would leave him in such royal attire. The moment quickly passed, however, when she realized that they were nearing a town.

_Oh, goody, _she thought as their wagon drove across another hole in the sorry excuse for a road and towards the hamlet below. Even with her hands bound, she was still confident in her ability to down the Jarl of Windhelm (or, rather, the **former** Jarl of Windhelm) and get lost in the surrounding woods before anyone could react. Still, something told her to wait. She wasn't usually one to delay her kills – especially if there was a great chance of death in doing so – but this time it was almost like someone was pulling her strings and staying her hand.

The Redguard ground her teeth in dissatisfaction, remembering the feeling all too well. The last time she'd felt it had ended with her incarceration and subsequent events that threw the entire Tamriel into temporary madness. _At least Sheogorath got to enjoy it_, she mused and let a small smile flitter across her face.

Maybe it was just the hunger getting to her. After all, she hadn't fed for a few days now, so it was no wonder that strange sensations were toying with her mind. She had her reasons, though. In order to get close to the man on her right, she had to infiltrate his camp; eating his bodyguards wasn't exactly the greatest way to gain his trust, so she had went without.

She let out another pitiful sigh as the cart shook again, taking another turn on the road towards the village below. She had just started planning the execution of the Jarl beside her, when a rough, gravelly voice interrupted her train of thought.

"Don't you know who that is?" asked the Nord and leaned into her personal space.

_Great. I hope they behead you first, _she thought even as she cast her gaze downwards, pretending to examine her linen-wrapped feet. She wriggled her toes a bit, smirking because she knew damn well how cold her companions were. She spent a few seconds musing whether to answer the man or not, and then finally opted for yes.

"He's the one who killed the High King, yeah?" she questioned him back, still refusing to look at him. Usually she wasn't particularly shy about her nature; sadly, her **usually** also included a handy cowl that covered her whole face, leaving her eyes in the dark. Despite her self-assuredness, the Redguard didn't want to turn her temporary companions hostile when she was still bound. After she got free of her bonds, however, the strong, muscular and healthy Nord was the first thing on the menu. Even staring downwards, the woman could still smell his blood pulse in his veins, made rich by a life-long diet of meat and mead. Her stomach contorted painfully, announcing to the rest of the body that it wanted to feed. With a short struggle, she managed to suppress the ache and push the enticing smells around her to the back of her mind. She didn't need any more distractions; the sun mocking her from high above was enough on its own already.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm!" the blonde exclaimed proudly and puffed out his chest. The woman, in turn, rolled her eyes and was once more glad to have kept her gaze glued to the worm-eaten planks of the wagon.

"Yeah, great for him. He's still getting executed just like you and me and that sourface over there," she tilted her head in the direction of the miserable young man at the far end of the cart. His face and arms were all covered in dried mud and other, less pleasant-smelling substances, but he seemed to pay no mind to it. The longer she looked at him, in fact, the more it appeared that he was on the verge of bursting into tears.

The Nord turned to face his neighbor as well, nudging him with his elbow. "Hey, why the long face, lad? We're going to Sovngarde, to drink and feast with the heroes forever!" he nearly bellowed, shaking the youngling out of his reverie.

"How can you be so damn happy about it!? We're going to die! **Die**, for the love of Akatosh! I don't want to die! I'm too young to die! I –" he was silenced by a well aimed kick to his groin, and the tears that had been threatening before finally spilled across his dirty cheeks, leaving streaks of clean skin in their wake. The Redguard smiled in satisfaction and wriggled her toes again; fortunately for the temporary occupants of the cart, her ankles weren't bound.

"Are you mad?!" the Nord nearly jumped off his seat at that, but she kept her disinterested gaze firmly trained on the bound pair of hands in her lap. When she didn't answer him, he attempted to kick her in the shins, but the agile woman moved her legs before he could even blink.

"What in the name of Talos…" the blonde stared at her, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, too shocked by her reaction to try and hit her again. Before he could regain his bearings, the wagon came to a halt in the main square of a village that looked vaguely like… _Helgen! _

She rose to her feet and followed the rest of the prisoners off the cart, all the while looking around so as to learn of the changes and incorporate them into the intricate map she had drawn in her head over the many years of her existence. Skyrim, thankfully, was rather sparsely populated in comparison to the other, more hospitable regions of Tamriel, making it far easier to map than the rest of them.

Helgen, in truth, hadn't altered that much since her last visit; a renovated tavern here, a few new houses there, an executioner's block in the main square… the Redguard smirked as she nimbly jumped off their carriage and at the end of the line that had formed. The soldier in the front called their names one by one, until finally only she was left. The Imperial was all ready to sign the last of them off and be on his merry way, when he realized that he had run out of names on his rather short list.

"And who are you, prisoner?" he asked with a frown on his face, lifting his gaze off his paper and to the Redguard.

She kept her eyes glued to the beaten earth between her toes as she answered, doing her best to sound sincere: "Ashaba, from Sentinel, sir," she replied timidly, nearly bursting with laughter as she did so. For a moment, the man seemed to weigh her answer, but then he waved her off with a shrug and tucked his list away.

_So much for justice of the Empire,_ 'Ashaba' smirked inwardly as she patted over to the rest of the convicts, coming to a stop beside the blonde Nord. She hardly thought her long-dead mother would mind her abuse of the name, but she still uttered an empty, silent prayer to her soul; not that she really believed that she could hear her, but old habits, even after centuries, refused to die without a fight.

Bouncing on the balls of her feet, she watched excitedly as the first Stormcloak was summoned to the block, given his last rites and then beheaded unceremoniously. As the head fell into the basket to the side, the Redguard felt another violent bout of hunger stab her in the abdomen. The smell of fresh, hot blood being spilled was doing nothing to allay the pain and she bit her lip to keep her groan from escaping her throat. The next man was already being pushed to his knees in front of the blood-caked stone, when a distant roar tore through the air and shook all of them into silence. Everyone, soldiers and prisoners alike, was turning around in futile search for the origin of the terrifying call, and one of her cart-companions, the sniffling weakling barely old enough to be put away from his mother's breast, decided that was a good moment to make a break for it.

'Ashaba' observed, nonplussed, as he ran uphill screaming and flailing until a single well-aimed arrow put an end to his ruckus. "Thank Boethiah," she muttered under her breath and turned her gaze to the nearest soldier. They were all alert, doubtlessly because of the presence of Jarl Ulfric the Kingslayer, watching the proceedings with jittery fingers and nervous eyes. The strange roar from before had only worsened the situation, and 'Ashaba' reckoned she could make her escape before it was her turn to approach the executioner.

In that very moment, her alias was called, and she cursed herself for jinxing it. _Well, here goes nothing, _she thought to herself as she made her first few hesitant steps. Before she could reach the block, however, another blood-curdling shriek pierced their ears. Accompanied by a powerful whirlwind as the gigantic form of a dragon landed on the top of the keep, it was enough to throw the majority of them off balance.

She, too, found herself scrambling for purchase on the slick dirt beneath her feet until she finally tumbled backwards into some inhospitable shrubbery. Before she could leap back to her feet the dragon perched on the tower opened his jaws and flattened them all again by the force of his voice. The powerful words swept across the small village, dislodging a few shutters and tearing open a few doors; but no-one saw that. Instead, every pair of eyes in the square was trained on the sky that had turned dark and cloudy in a matter of seconds, only to tear open and reveal a rain of fiery rocks plummeting towards them.

With the sun gone, spryness immediately returned to the Redguard's limbs and she dived for cover, her hunger forgotten. The first flaming boulder landed right in the middle of the battalion that was supposed to be watching the prisoners, killing most of them and leaving the few left alive to scream in agony as they were cooked alive inside their armors. She wiped a tear off her cheek for all the good blood going to waste and then scrambled behind another set of barrels when a rock landed a little too close to her liking. If she didn't make it out quickly, the fire was wont to corner her when she moved from cover to cover, so the woman made a split second decision and dashed towards the gaping gates of Helgen that were left completely unattended as the soldiers either went to fight the dragon or were killed by the falling boulders.

The gate was only a hair's breadth away when another burning rock crashed into the ground mere meters away from 'Ashaba', hurling her against the palisade. She slumped to the floor next to the wooden poles and her eyelids fluttered as she struggled to keep them open. It was to no avail; the combined effort of her hungry state, exposure to the sun and the unpleasant meeting with the barricades had her falling into the embrace of Oblivion as the fires and death continued to rage around her.


	2. Cold as Stone

It was the voices that woke her first, but the sound of something heavy being dragged was the catalyst which jerked her to full awareness. It was by pure instinct (and centuries of experience) that she kept her eyes shut even when she was pulled back into the conscious world, forcing her body to lie still and continue imitating a corpse.

"How 'bout this one?" drawled a gravelly, rough voice not far from her position beside the smoldering ramparts. Even though she couldn't see the owner, the Redguard was almost positive that the man was a scavenger who kept at least a company of one; unless he was talking to himself, which made made her job much easier.

Still, her hopes were quickly dashed as another disembodied voice answered the first: "Nah, he's all done roasted," chuckled the other man and spat on what was probably another sorry victim that had fallen prey to the dragon's flame.

Where most people who found themselves in her situation would've been hindered by their lack of sight, she had no such problems. Her nostrils flared as she tasted the air for smells other than the pungent fetor of scorched human flesh and the acrid smoke of burning fat. Drifting on the easy breeze was a different, far more pleasant odor; it was one that whispered of titillating, life giving liquid rushing just beneath the skin. With sheer strength of will the woman kept her hungry groan from surfacing and focused herself on the sounds the pair was making instead.

They were closer now, an arm's length and a half, maybe two. Steeling herself for the inevitable groping and fondling by the two foragers, she perked her ears to prepare for their approach. Finally, their heavy feet fell silent as they stopped beside her body, and then the closer of the two leaned in to search her. The Redguard could hear all the small squeals and pops that his knees uttered in protest as he squatted, and could barely suppress a smirk.

_So you're pretty worn out, huh?_ she mused as his calloused, thick fingers explored the rags hanging loosely from her body. He even tore the linen wraps from her feet in his fervent search for coin, but found none.

"Cold as a stone, and worth it too," he muttered angrily and rose again, rejoining his companion in their quest for gold and other valuables. As their footsteps petered into the distance the Redguard slowly opened her eyes, keeping her gaze glued to their backs as she sprang to her feet and into a crouching position. Once she was sure that the pair hadn't noticed her sudden bout of liveliness, the woman turned to assess the rest of the smoldering ruins that were once the proud village of Helgen.

There wasn't much else left besides the slowly burning embers and blackened, crumbling rocks that used to comprise many a home of the long dead people of Helgen. The only thing that was still more or less intact were the keep just off the main square and the walls around the hamlet made of quarried stone. The gates through which she had tried to escape earlier that day had been reduced to charred splinters sometime during her unconsciousness, leaving a gaping hole in the otherwise impenetrable bulwark.

And a lone human was guarding her exit.

The vampire's eyes narrowed and her stomach growled angrily when she spotted the oblivious man who was – quite logically, in fact – keeping an eye out for dangers coming from the woods. After all, his back was supposedly covered by his two mates, was it not?

A tight grin curled her pale lips as she slinked across the boulder-riddled expanse of muddy road, slipping from one rock to another and keeping to the long shadows of the dying day. Dusk was almost as good as night; sometimes even more so, because the last rays of the sun always lulled her unsuspecting victims into a false sense of security, making an already effortless task even simpler.

Not that she was going to complain now. She was tired, hungry and hurting, so the idea of having to do some actual **hunting** wasn't all that appealing. Her target was a sitting duck, however, and the Redguard was behind him before he could take two breaths. Without a sound she rose to an upright position and wrapped her deceivingly strong fingers around his throat and head, snapping his precious little neck faster than he could say 'Mead'.

Silently she laid him on the ground and dragged him out of the village, only to sink her fangs into his still warm flesh the second they were obscured by the walls. She drank the hot liquid for all she was worth, even tearing into the meat of his neck a few times to gain better access to the thicker veins, breaking them easily with her elongated canines and gorging on the flowing blood. She lifted her head once she had bled the poor man dry, wiping the excess off her chin and sucking her fingers clean with a pleased sigh. She was still nowhere near full, but the healthy young meal had certainly done her a lot of good.

Her skin no longer boasted those sickly hues (they were far less noticeable to begin with, since she had retained some of the tanned quality to her skin even in undeath) and her eyes didn't shine like a pair of rubies set aflame anymore. Still, she was far from her best, seeing as her age had brought with it its own set of disadvantages. True, she was probably more skilled at just about anything than any average human, but with centuries her thirst for blood had only grown. To satisfy it now the Redguard needed a dose almost thrice the one of a fledgling vampire.

Murmuring a curse under her breath, the woman fell into a crouch again and peered around the wall just in time to see the couple of scavengers completing their rounds. They seemed dissatisfied with their loot, but her concern deepened only when she saw that one of them was shouting something irrelevant over his shoulder.

_At least three, then,_ she corrected her earlier assumption and retreated again to quickly relieve her victim of everything remotely usable. She had stored her usual equipment in a safe place for the duration of her mission for fear of the exact same situation she had found herself in; trying to pass for a dissatisfied farmer didn't work all that well when you were decked out in high-quality armor. That sadly meant that she just had to make do with whatever trash was at hand until something better came her way.

Just as she pulled on the last fur boot and grabbed the man's poorly made iron sword a yell rang across the ruins of Helgen.

"Where the hell is Jilwe?!"

As soon as the bandit voiced his observation every one of his buddies joined in on the cacophony. The Redguard had just enough time to cast an invisibility spell before the first of the men came rushing to the gap in the wall, followed closely by the rest of the crew. There were five in total – not counting the dead boy she had dined upon – and all of them looked on in horror as they saw the mauled body of their comrade.

Still, the perpetrator of the heinous crime had no time to gloat as she slipped past the bandits and into the now abandoned village, rushing among the debris and boulders scattered across the square in order to reach the other side of the ruins.

She was closing what little was left of the distance to the doors when her spell expired with a crack just loud enough to alert the man who was guarding the other entrance. With a grimace on his face he turned around and brandished his sword, shouting to alert his fellow bandits. The vampire cursed her luck and lifted her weapon, falling into a low stance. She had to finish the man quickly before the rest of his band came rushing to his aid. She just hoped that they had focused on the immediate vicinity of her victim and hadn't decided to check the village first.

They crossed their swords a few times and she let him get close on one or two occasions, just to judge his fighting style. Then, when the man lunged next, the Redguard sidestepped him easily, hitting him across the back with the flat of her blade for that extra push. Just as he landed in the mud the woman turned around, her sword singing through the air and embedding itself at the base of his neck.

She pulled her blade free from the dying flesh and rushed forward just as the first arrow flew past her head. The angry bellows of the other outlaws followed her for a few minutes, but the vampire was quickly gaining on the men decked out in heavier armor, until finally, their shouts quieted completely.

Coming to a stop somewhere just off the road, the woman leaned on the trunk of an old spruce and went about cleaning her sword. Only once she was sure the blade was spotless she twirled it in the palm of her hand, wrapping her fingers around the handle in an inverted grip and testing its balance now that she had time. The weapon was nowhere near perfect, but as long as her biggest concern was a stray bear or an aggressive pack of wolves, it would serve its purpose.

She took a few seconds to consult with her inner map, then turned her gaze to the mostly clear night sky above her. Masser and Secunda were only starting their journey across the firmament, but the Redguard was more interested in the invariable positions of the stars.

_Where should I go? There's a fucking dragon in Skyrim and Ulfric is still alive,_ the woman groaned at the rapidly escalating problem that was getting out of hand faster than Nords down mead.

It was the sorry state of her clothing and equipment that made the choice for her in the end, and the vampire set course for Solitude.

She also had a general to discipline, after all.


	3. Don't Kill the Messenger

Azura wasn't even kissing the eastern mountain ridges in the distance when the Redguard was already advancing uphill to the gates of Whiterun. Her final destination was Solitude, alright, but she wasn't about to travel all the way to the north covered in plain furs. Not that the cold bothered the vampire; on the contrary, she had come to Skyrim seeking its comfortable embrace. It was the uselessness of the 'armor' that concerned her more.

True, she was an adroit fighter with just about anything melee, but she hadn't stayed undead this long because she pranced across inhospitable, perilous lands wearing next to nothing and hoping for the best. No, the Redguard preferred to err on the side of caution and put on an additional piece of armor rather than risk getting harmed. Thus it made complete sense to make a stop in the trading hub of lowland Skyrim and pay a visit to one of her favorite landmarks in the town; shadowmarked barrels.

A pair of drowsy, tired guards halted her approach, one of them coming closer to examine the early traveler. The Redguard smirked as she remembered her midnight snack in one of the farmhouses just outside of the city. Now, when the shadows were on her side and her thirst was almost completely quelled, the guard was none the wiser even after he peered intently at her face for a few long seconds. The vampire clacked her tongue impatiently and quirked an eyebrow.

"So? Can I go in or are you going to stare at me for a while longer?" she poked at the man in a dry voice and did her best to look as disinterested as she felt.

"Not so fast, lass. What's your business in the city of Whiterun?" said the other guard and made a few steps towards the pair.

"What do you **think**? Unless your Jarl approves of you driving off customers, then go ahead, keep annoying me. Otherwise, let me in the city and earn your damn pay," she nigh sneered in reply, leveling the other man with an irritated glare.

The two glanced at each other, seemingly weighing their decision, and then finally the one next to her answered.

"Fine, you can go in. And you had best be sure that you'll be buying, or forget about it the next time around!" he nearly yelled after her, but the Redguard was paying him no mind. The 'next time' the guard was using as threat was of no concern to the woman, because her trusty papers would once again be in her possession, rendering all such bickering unnecessary.

Protected by the cover of darkness the vampire rushed up the paved street and past the inn that was still silent at this early morning hour, lending her the peace and quiet she needed to find the right barrel. Sure enough, it was there, hidden behind two others that contained nothing more than potatoes, carrots and cabbage. The Redguard smirked as she pried the lid off the barrel, peering inside and almost giggling with delight at all the precious loot twinkling at her in the shadows.

Whistling a long forgotten, merry tune of her people, the Redguard made her way down to the armory she had noticed earlier. She was positive that the skyforge still produced better equipment, no matter who was using it, but she was coming nowhere near the Companions; she didn't need a pack of smelly puppies sniffling around her as she was trying to make her purchases. She sat herself on the workbench as she waited for the owners to come and open the shop, gazing lovingly at the loot she had recovered from the barrel. Still, she couldn't help but notice that it wasn't nearly as substantial as it used to be. Frowning at the thought, she also realized that there was no armor or weaponry in the barrel. Resolving to pay a visit to Riften once she was done with her business in Solitude, the Redguard relaxed once more.

A heavily accented voice of a woman used to having her own way roused her from her dozing state just as dawn was breaking.

"And just what do you think you're doing?" the apparent owner of the forge inquired angrily, hands on her hips. The vampire chuckled softly and hopped off the woman's equipment, dusting off her furs.

"I'm waiting for you so I can spend these," she smirked as she lifted the hefty coin purse and shook it for good measure, watching as the smith's lips quirk in a smile.

"Still, refrain from sitting on the workbench, please. I actually need that," she led the Redguard inside the shop and stepped behind the counter, making small talk as she went. "I usually just make the goods, but my husband's off securing new sources of ore and ingots. Do you know how hard it is to come by dwemer metal these days? There's just no-one out there who would dare venture into the ruins. I mean, there is the danger of encountering those ungodly machines, but they can't be **that** difficult to deal with, right?" And on and on she went as she laid out some of the armor and showed her the arms.

The Redguard tuned out her blabbering as she tested each weapon and weighed each piece of armor. She was pleasantly surprised by the quality of the equipment – it still didn't come close to her usual attire, but still – and finally settled for a lightweight set of scaled armor. She liked the design and freedom of movement it provided while not penalizing its ability to protect her body from blows, arrows, claws and other expeditious demise-providing venues of attack.

She sold the sword and the furs to purchase a scimitar. That, too, had been a unexpected sight in Skyrim, since she knew for a fact that they preferred longswords when it came to one-handed, bladed weapons. The smith, seeing her surprise, quickly explained the story behind the sword typical of Redguard warriors. About a year ago a woman from Hammerfell had come to Whiterun and sold her the scimitar along with some other trinkets. She had reluctantly bought the weapon since she knew, just like the vampire, that the Nords liked a straight blade better than a curved one.

"You're in luck, you know," the woman added as she accepted the septims in payment, "I was going to melt it tomorrow, because nobody wanted to buy it," she winked at the Redguard who easily wielded a weapon so natural to her, and smiled. "You look like you can handle a blade. Say, would you be so kind as to take this up to Dragonsreach and deliver it to the Jarl's steward? It's just a short walk away, but I've got a giant order to fill from the Legion, and I really can't afford to be late with this sword," she pointed to a greatsword hanging on a rack to the side and did her best to smile persuasively.

The vampire tilted her head to the side and pondered her decision. The sun was quickly climbing its way to the zenith, but she had kept the fur cloak from the previous armor, so some protection from the aggressive sunlight was ensured. The journey to Solitude would take her more than a day in any case, and being on good terms with blacksmiths was always a good idea when you needed to make some of your own stuff. Not everyone was trusting enough to give access to their forge to complete strangers.

"Eh, sure, give it here. The steward, you said, right?" The woman affirmed her question and kept thanking her until the Redguard escaped from the shop. It was still early in the day, but the marketplace was already bustling with traders and merchants setting up shop. Some of them were even so entrepreneurial as to call out to her despite not even having goods on sale yet. The woman just shook her head and ascended the steps to the Wind district only to be rooted to the spot in shock.

The once lush Gildergreen was now barely growing, its leaves gone and its once proud branches wilted and twisted. Her brow furrowed in surprise and sadness and she neared a guard to ask about the dying tree. The man mumbled something about the temple of Kynareth and shrugged, apparently not caring in the least that the one of the most wondrous plants to grow in Tamriel was withering before his very eyes. Angrily she stalked off, cursing the people's ignorance under her breath as she climbed the path to Dragonsreach.

The palace, at least, was almost as glorious as she remembered it. The paint was peeling off in some places and the wood seemed dry and chipped in others, but mostly it was still the famed cage in which Olaf One-Eye had caught and kept Numinex. The building, vast and imposing, resembled a prison with discreet elegance typical of the longhouse construction. The vampire had seen the palace grow over the years, change, be partially destroyed by a violent storm, decay, be repaired, repainted and expanded, and so on and so on. It had been around from before the times of Olaf, so it was only natural that it change some to keep up with the times.

Pushing open the giant door, the Redguard slipped from the sun and into the cool darkness of the Jarl's palace. She had no idea who was the ruler of Whiterun, but she was sure that his steward wouldn't be far from the man sitting on the throne.

She was proven correct as soon as she ascended the short steps leading to the raised landing. Before she could approach the reclining man or his councilor, however, she was stopped by a sour-looking Dunmer who nearly speared her with her sword.

"Hey, easy there," the Redguard moved to a safe distance from the mer and cast an inquiring look to the Jarl. "Is this how you greet travelers in Whiterun? I was under the impression that this was a hospitable city," she kept her voice level, but her eyes sang a different tune.

"Relax, Irileth," the blonde Nord waved off his lap hound, but the Dunmer kept glaring at her even as she came to stand on the other side of the throne. "Now, my good **traveler**, what business brings you here?" asked the Jarl as he sat upright in his gilded chair.

The Redguard glanced at the steward and then at the Jarl. "Two things. I've got a delivery for your councilor here, and a piece of news you might not like," she offered the greatsword wrapped in clothing to the bald man, explaining it was from his daughter, and then turned back to the ruler.

"The dragons have returned," she stated dryly as she stood there, illuminated only by the low fire burning in the hearth behind her.

For a moment, the Jarl, his steward and his bodyguards looked at the woman in shock, and then the man on the throne burst out in laughter. "Right!" he bellowed heartily and snorted in disbelief. "Next you're going to tell me that you met one of their priests and he taught you the way of the voice, innit?" The Jarl laughed again and slapped his thigh.

The vampire, on the other hand, remained deathly serious as she waited for the ruler of Whiterun to stop ridiculing her words. "If you choose to ignore my warning, that's your problem. Rest assured that at least one of them is here, and he is as powerful as the legends suggest. He tore open the sky and summoned a hail of flaming rocks upon Helgen," she continued, her cold gaze boring into the Jarl's eyes.

Suddenly, the man's smile disappeared as he realized that the woman before him wasn't joking around. The tone of her voice, the set line of her jaw, the smoldering anger in her eyes; it all spoke to support her statements.

"I'll send a battalion of men to check on Helgen. If what you're saying is true, times are only just getting harder," the Nord continued, all joy drained from his face. He motioned to one of his housecarls who rushed out of Dragonsreach, supposedly to gather the aforementioned men and go observe the ruins of the village.

"You have done a great service to this land, traveler. I wish there were more upstanding citizens like you," he nodded to his steward and the man approached her, handing her a sleek elven sword that glinted in the faint light of the fire. As the vampire wrapped her fingers around the handle, the Jarl spoke once more. "Accept this as a token of my gratitude, and remember that you will be always welcome in Whiterun," the Nord spoke and smirked as he watched her make a few testing slashes with the blade.

"There is, however, one more thing I would have you do for me, since you've proven yourself more than capable," he started just as the Redguard was about to turn on her heel and leave. Suppressing a groan, the woman faced the Jarl again and tried not to look as annoyed as she felt. Her quick detour was rapidly turning into a lengthy delay she couldn't afford. Sheathing the received weapon she listened to the Nord as he went on about some ancient barrow in the mountains south of Whiterun. At some point he stood up and led her to his court wizard who barely noticed the woman and deigned to look at her only after his ruler explained to him what she was doing.

After suffering through another harangue, the Redguard was finally free to go without insulting the ruling body of the whole city, which she promptly did.

_Dragonstone! Boethiah knows I'm not poking around any Nordic ruins for you,_ she thought angrily as she almost ran down the steps and to the main gate of Whiterun. Her trip to Solitude was the first thing on her list by a long shot, and only afterwards was she even willing to **think** about the possibility of venturing into a barrow doubtlessly infested with hosts of draugr. Shaking off the disquieting thought, the Redguard sought out the carriage and was pleased to find it just outside the gates. She had half expected the carriage-network to be shut down because of the civil unrest and such, but she wasn't going to complain. She was already late as it was, and didn't need another unfavorable circumstance slowing her down.

The vampire approached the carriage-driver and quickly settled on a fair price that satisfied both parties. She climbed onto the bench beside the man and placed her scimitar in her lap. What with the rumors of braver and more daring bandits plaguing every road, be it day or night, she felt much safer with a weapon in the firm grip of her hand. The driver, whether he approved or not, made no remark and simply cracked his whip to get the horse going.


	4. A Rose by Any Other Name

It seemed that every town in Skyrim, be it famed or not, was long past its prime. As the carriage continued its rocky way across the marshes and towards Solitude, the vampire observed the once bustling port. She could count the number of ships docked on the fingers of one hand, and even the ones that were in port seemed in poor shape and scarcely loaded. She wondered if it was that the war had simply drained all the tradable resources or maybe the cession of most easternimperial provinces in the first place, rendering the East Empire Trading Company useless. The once major holdings in Morrowind and Hammerfell had disappeared in the blink of an eye; first the eruption of the Red Mountain, and then the cession of Hammerfell. Both led to huge losses both in goods supply and workers, forcing the Company to cut its costs and fire many others in order to stay afloat.

She turned her head to her quiet companion "Do you know how much presence the Company still has in Skyrim?" she asked, casting another curious gaze to the mostly abandoned port of Solitude. The driver shrugged with one shoulder as he pulled on the reins to lead the horse across the bridge, answering only once they had crossed the narrow passage.

"Heck me if I know, missus. Have to say though, you're looking mighty pale today. Yer alright for sure?" he replied glancing over to his passenger.

The woman chuckled as she averted her eyes from the capital of Skyrim and to the sword still sitting in her lap. "No, I'm fine. It's the cold that must be getting to me. Living on the Golden coast for a few years does that to a person," she grinned easily, slapping the man across his back. "In fact, I'm more perplexed by how you deal with this Talos cursed weather every day of the year," she added after a few moments, glancing at the cloudy sky.

The driver, however, quickly shushed her and looked around in panic. "Don't say **that**!" he whispered angrily, still scouring the surrounding area for potential witnesses.

"Say **what**?" the Redguard played dumb, quirking an eyebrow in apparent confusion. She knew damn well why the Nord beside her was scared out of his mind, but seeing his expression change from calm disinterest to abject terror was too amusing to miss out on. Still, she kept her smirk from blossoming fully as they passed by the Solitude stables. They were close to the main gate now, and the vampire could barely suppress her laugh as a patrol walked by, causing the driver to almost keel over in fear.

When the guards were out of earshot, the man quickly murmured back "Have you been living under a rock?" he rasped harshly, looking at her with wide eyes. "Ever since the Empire signed that damn treaty you cannae pray to Talos anymore," he rushed to explain as they neared the imposing forged gates of Solitude. The driver pulled on the reins once more to stop the horse as a guard approached them. After a couple of questions the man called out to the guards on the wall, and the door was opened for them to pass through.

She left the carriage as soon as they were inside the city, disappearing into the maze of the winding back alleys in her search for a very specific target. First she needed her pretty seals and rings, and only then came her precious equipment. She was fed up with having to deal with annoying guards treating her like common rabble and arguing for entrance at every other gate.

She smiled triumphantly as she finally found Dervenin ambling around the terrace behind the Bards' college, muttering nonsensical, broken phrases to himself and swinging an empty mug of ale. She tapped the hunched man on the shoulder until he turned to face her, his face lighting up with a scarce-toothed grin when he saw who it was.

"Ria!" he exclaimed and returned the slap across her back. "I know what you're here for, come, come," he chuckled as he led her back into the safe darkness of the narrow alleys, explaining on the way how his master was still visiting an old friend. The Redguard only smirked in response and bit her cheek in order not to laugh. She knew his master very well – or, at least, **used **to – and wasn't surprised in the least that he had abandoned his valiant luggage in favor of a tea-party in some daedra-forsaken realm of Oblivion. Choosing to keep her comments to herself she stopped when Dervenin disappeared to poke at the bricks around his cot, emerging once more from his nook with a collection of sealed documents wrapped with a string and four rings in his other hand.

She accepted her possessions and gave the Bosmer a fistful of septims. "Here, have a couple of hot meals on me," she squeezed them into his bony hand and turned to leave. "Oh, and I'll try to poke your master a bit after I take care of some business," she added as an afterthought, nodding to the beggar as she left.

She tucked her precious papers and one of the rings into her pouch while she slipped the other three on the fingers of her left hand, feeling more relaxed with each in its proper place. They were the symbols of her unquestionable authority in any Imperial province; now she just needed the proper attire to go with them. Humming a jolly tune to herself, the vampire pushed open the doors to the hall of the dead just as night was beginning to fall, slipping inside to recover the rest of her equipment.

She slunk past the priest of Arkay with ease and descended the steps that lead to the crypts, only to find the door locked. She debated for a few moments whether to return upstairs and relieve the priest of the key, or to pick her way into the burial chambers. She finally decided that getting the key wasn't worth the risk and instead retrieved a few lockpicks that she had collected from the shadowmarked barrel in Whiterun. She inserted it carefully into the keyhole and slowly added the thin tension wrench. Pressing her ear to the metal beside lock she kept turning the lockpick until she heard the faint, telltale 'click' that gave away the sweet spot. Grinning victoriously, the vampire cracked open the door just enough to slide in and then quickly closed it behind herself. Once inside, the Redguard rose from her crouching position and let out a relaxed sigh.

_Now where did I leave you?_ she mused inwardly, lifting her gaze from the nearest coffin. Her eyes searched the vast chamber until she found a small crescent moon etched into the wall of a particular alcove. Her smile spread as she advanced to the nook and kneeled beside the second niche to the left, pushing the heavy lid off the coffin with care.

Once she was free to explore the contents of the stone casket, the woman removed the skeletal remains that sat in there as a decoy and slid her fingers around the edges of the wooden bottom until she found the small notch in the side. She pried it open to reveal a neatly folded set of armor accompanied by a slightly curved dagger of Redguard make.

* * *

FUS RO DAH

* * *

When she stepped out into the late evening again the woman was covered head-to-toe with a black cloak bearing no insignia of any kind, her face unrecognizable in the impenetrable shadow thrown by her cowl. Underneath the robe was a different story altogether, however. Her Penitus Oculatus armor fit her like a charm – which was only expected, since it was made specifically for her and her preferences – hugging her body where it had to and allowing her freedom of movement where she needed it. The warm, woolen tunic underneath cushioned the chainmail beneath the armor nicely while also providing additional protection and comfort. Her boots were made of especially soft leather and creaked so softly that even watch dogs could barely hear them; and even that could be corrected with a bit of oil polish. The final touch were the gloves; first was the layer of linen wrappings, protecting her from armor abrasions, and only then came the leather with metal fittings in all the right places to give additional protection, yet not cause the stiffness so often encountered in full-metal armors.

Dressed like this the Redguard scaled the steps to castle Dour and confidently approached the guards keeping watch of the entrance. Their hands went to the handles of their swords in a matter of seconds after they'd spotted the secretive figure. The figure in question, however, did not seem fazed by this in the least, and instead extended her left hand to flash the rings at the wary soldiers. One of them, perhaps their commander, came closer, still holding his sword in a tight grip, and raised his torch to get a better look at the jewelry glinting on the calloused fingers.

His brow furrowed in disbelief as he alternated his gaze between the rings on her hand and the obscured face beneath the cowl, his mouth parting as if he were going to speak. He blinked a few times and then collected himself, coughing briefly and stepping back. "Please, go ahead," he stammered a bit and nodded to one of his men who then rushed to let the mysterious nighttime visitor into the castle.

Just as she was rounding the corner to the courtyard she could hear one of the guards poking at the commander. "Who was that, Renvek?"

"Tenebrae."


	5. Cloak and Dagger

"What is the meaning of this interruption?!"

The indignated voice of General Tullius rang across the stone halls of castle Dour, almost rousing the inhabitants from their hard-earned sleep. Who could begrudge him, though, when nearly anyone else would have woken screaming if a cloaked figure would've clasped its hand over their mouth? The veteran soldier had reached for the dagger under his pillow as quickly as he could, but the Redguard was faster.

The fingers of her free hand easily grabbed the Imperial's wrist, immobilizing it against the side of his bed. The cold rings bit harshly into the bare flesh, and the man held back a groan of pain.

"Not a word more, Galen," she whispered roughly and removed her hand from his lips after he nodded. She took a step back and released her grip on his wrist as well, pulling off her hood now that her hands weren't busy silencing the General, which earned her a surprised gasp from the man.

Galen Tullius sat upright in his bed, gaping at the unannounced guest, heedless of the sheets that had fallen off his body. The vampire's eyebrows climbed her forehead as her eyes feasted on the body before her; for a man of his age, the General was in fantastic shape. She told him as much, immediately breaking his shocked stupor as she chuckled at his embarrassment. Sparing him a moment to gather his wits, the vampire strolled to his end table and picked up a cup half filled with liquid. She let out an approving hum as tasted it, identifying the deep red fluid as Firebrand wine.

"And here I thought you liked to sip on blood," the Redguard grinned as she turned back to the Imperial who was now hopefully at least decent. The man offered her a confused look in response just as he finished adjusting his tunic.

"Compared to Penitus Oculatus agents that sneak around Imperial outposts for no apparent reason... Yeah, I think that would still pass as normal," he gave back as good as he got, smirking smugly at her expression. The woman quickly recovered, though, and allowed a small smile of her own to blossom on her lips.

"Yes, well. I wouldn't be so sure about that," she shrugged nonchalantly and tilted her head to the door she had lockpicked earlier. "Shall we? There's a lot of business we have to discuss," she added matter-of-factly, not caring in the least that they were about to conduct it at an ungodly hour.

"Now, now. Hold your horses there," said the General who remained rooted to the spot. He beckoned her and nodded towards her left hand that lay hidden in the folds of her robe once more. "Let me see those before I say something I shouldn't," he explained when the vampire continued to stare at him with a questioning gaze.

She held her hand up to the glow of the twin moons filtering through the thick glass, and the rings on her fingers became alive with light. One made of silver, two of gold, they all bore insignia that opened every door in the Empire. First was the dragon of Akatosh, followed by the all-seeing eye of Penitus Oculatus, and in the end came the thinner, silver band upon which rested an ornate crescent moon. Of all the symbols on her hand, the last one made the General pause the most. Others he had seen and borne too, but the moon was as unique unique as it was legendary in its own right; far more so because of the person it was rumored to belong to.

"Tenebrae?" he inquired cautiously, finding it hard to believe that this was truly one of the three renowned spy-assassins that answered only to the Emperor himself. They were said to each bear their own ring and moniker as their identity, their true names long stricken from all records. In their service to the Empire they were known only as Dolor, Tenebrae and Hiems and were recognizable by the symbol of a cross, a crescent moon and a teardrop respectively.

Up until then the man believed they were nothing more than embellished tales of exploits of many a spy that had served the Empire over the years, retold and merged until they evolved into the three mythical personae that every agent idolized.

It was rather hard to retain that conviction when one of them was leaning against a wall in front of him. He blinked twice to collect himself and then nodded. "Very well, what manner of business did you want to deal with?"

"Ah, goody, we're getting to the important stuff. Listen, let me just establish a few ground rules here," the Redguard started as she descended the steps from Tullius' room and into the tactical center on the middle floor of the main tower.

"You and I," she started as they reached the map of Skyrim, "we're not equals. So let's not get too cozy here, alright?" she tilted her head and quirked an eyebrow, waiting for the General to respond. The man, having forgotten completely how it was to be addressed without any respect whatsoever, simply looked at her with unblinking eyes.

"Right! Now, this is how we're going to do this: I'm going to tell you how exactly you've managed to condemn this whole sordid affair to an eternity in Oblivion, and you're going to listen and make notes and go **fucking** **correct** your stupid mistakes before this gets any worse," her feigned amicability finally started to crack as the Redguard began to lose her patience.

Pinching the bridge of her nose the vampire continued angrily. "I swear, it's like each division is **physically** incapable of informing the other about their plans. And then, of course, when everything goes sideways and straight up the ass of Sheogorath himself, well, then it's **our **fault, naturally," throwing her hands in the air as she paced around the table, the woman went on.

"And then there's the sorry fact that this, **all of this**, could've ended three fucking days ago, if you and your merry band of executioners hadn't decided to do it right there in Helgen and give the Stormcloaks yet **another** reason to hate the Empire. Half the time I don't know if you were sent her to prevent this war or instigate it, I swear," the woman ground out, furious and at the very end of her terrifyingly finite reserves of patience.

The General, finally getting a chance to speak, responded with disgruntlement evident in his voice as well as on his face. "And how was I to know that Oculatus was already planning a kill? Nobody sent any word, so we did what seemed best in the given situation," he, like the Redguard, was quite fed up with the lack of working communication between the various branches of the Imperial military and intelligence.

When it was a supply shipment that arrived a week too late, the repercussions were manageable; when it was an assassination gone wrong, however, the consequences were unfathomable.

"And besides, who could've predicted a bloody dragon appearing, for Akathosh's sake?! I bet it's all that Ulfric Stormcloak's fault. He and his Thu'um, or whatever these Nords call it. It's all twisted. **Wrong**," the General smashed the blue flag placed on Windhelm with his fist, eyes ablaze with contempt and anger.

"Yeah, well, that **was** a fair bit of surprise, that's for sure," muttered the vampire as she pulled up a chair and plopped down on it, massaging her temples. "It doesn't matter why it arrived when it did, in any case. Our main target is still Ulfric and his band of insurrectionists. He saw me at the execution, so he'll be at least neutral towards me. I propose this," she said as she lifted her gaze to the silver eyes of Galen Tullius, staring at him intently.

"I join his ranks again – which ought to be easier since I was already halfway there before your men **captured** me – convince him to trust me, then stab him in the back at a properly pivotal moment and be done with it," she grinned happily at her simple plan and rubbed her hands in expectation of a good, satisfying kill.

"We have to be careful not to make a martyr out of him, though," remarked the Imperial as he gazed thoughtfully at the flags scattered across the map on the table. The Redguard sighed irately and directed her glare at the ceiling.

"I knew I was forgetting something," she muttered darkly and pushed herself out of the chair. "So, what? If I get him to trust me with one of his battalions, maybe I can turn it against the rest of his men? You know, get them to believe that he ditched them for some reason or other?" but even as she was finishing voicing her thought the vampire already realized the impossibility of the idea. The General shook his head, affirming her realization.

"No, that's not going to work. His whole rebellion is based on ideals and convictions. If we discredit him, however... erode his reputation somehow, then we're good. We can sit back, get plastered and watch as they lynch him themselves. We just need to figure out **how**," he finished with a furrowed brow, still boring his stare into the blue flag of Windhelm.

After that the pair descended into ponderous silence, each trying to think of an effective plan while they stalked around the room. Perhaps half an hour passed when the Redguard spoke at length, coming to a halt almost mid-step.

"We're wasting our time here. I'll go and infiltrate his legion, gain his trust and continue gathering information on him as I go. We'll decide on a drop point and there we'll exchange intelligence every few weeks. We keep this to as few people as possible; have someone you trust with your life deliver and collect the information, preferably encrypted. Good? Good," she rushed to explain and pulled her robe around herself once again.

"You have to go back to sleep now, and I have a couple of friends to visit. Have your messenger bring the information to Whiterun and hide it beneath the roots of Gildergreen, every week and a half, approximately. Have him vary a bit both in the amount of days and the hour of delivery," she nodded to Tullius and was gone before the man had a chance to answer.

Riften, after all, was two days of vigorous riding away; luckily for her, the Legion's horses were well-fed and rested.


	6. Honor Among Thieves

As she neared the city on the back of her tired horse, the vampire already began to realize that this was no Riften of old; it was a glum, pathetic mirror image of its former self. The guards were half asleep, the watchtowers hardly manned; the water was littered with refuse and foul with drainage; the houses badly kept, the wharves barely standing on the rotten pillars; and worst of all was the height of the 'fine' asked of her for entry into the city. It could mean one thing and one thing only; the Thieves guild was well and truly in shambles.

After leveling the guard at the gate with a long, harsh stare the man started apologizing profusely and quickly let her in, almost begging her not to report him. The Redguard shoved him aside as she entered the town, glancing around for any signs of the Guild's presence. Nothing. Her lips curled in distaste as she avoided a smelly, rangy man lying on a cot in a corner.

_What has Riften come to?_ the vampire wondered disappointedly and was about to cross the bridge to the main square, when a burly, unkempt man approached her. She lifted an eyebrow in askance and placed her hand on the hilt of her sword, taking special care to be anything but discreet.

"Yes? Can I help you with something?" she asked coldly before the Nord had a chance to speak. His dark brow furrowed in confusion, as he was apparently used to intimidating his victims into silence.

"I don't know your face, stranger, so you must be new around here," he growled nonetheless, leaning into her personal space. It was at times like these that the Redguard wished she were taller, instead of having to tilt her head back in order to maintain eye contact with the man.

"Let me make this simple for you, newbie. Stay out of the Black-Briar business, and I won't break all the bones in your body. We clear?" His breath stank of mead and there were pieces of meat stuck between his yellow teeth. The vampire's stomach churned and her nostrils flared as she took a step back to avoid the stench.

The enforcer mistook it for a terrified retreat, however, since he smirked and waved her off. "Atta girl," he chuckled and went to slap her ass. He let out a high-pitched yelp when the vampire caught his hand-mid air and easily sent him flying into the mud at their feet, grabbing a fistful of his hair to keep his face deep in the wet, sticky earth. Kneeling on his armored back, the Redguard leaned to whisper roughly into his ear.

"We clear, big boy?" she snorted with derision as he coughed into the mire being forced into his mouth and nose. He tried valiantly to stand up, but the woman was stronger, keeping him kicking in the mud for a while longer. Only when she saw a pair of sentries running towards her did she release him, rising to her feet and dusting off her robe in a display of arrogance. She raised her gaze from the man still wheezing on the ground just in time to see a guard's naked blade in front of her face.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" shouted the man before her as the other helped the enforcer into a standing position, slapping him on the back a few times for good measure. The vampire laughed at the sight, but the guard didn't share her sense of humor, seeing as his sword was nearly skewering her cheek now.

"Easy there, love, I'm not here to cause trouble. Your friendly local bully started it. I just helped him understand that I don't like it when men slap my ass," she finally answered with fake joviality in her voice. She decided to keep the other matter quiet, though by the looks of things the city watch was in the pocket of these 'Black-Briars' as well, whoever they were. The family name did ring a dim bell, now that she thought about it, but she had no recollection whatsoever about the context of her knowledge.

"Right, and I slept with Dibella last night," spat the guard and stabbed her lightly in the chest with the tip of his sword. The vampire just looked at him, unfazed, and lightly pushed the blade away from her body.

"How about you let me go and save the both of us a good deal of nerves?" she smiled wolfishly and bore her intense eyes into his. The Nord seemed startled by the audacity of the transgressor rather than her words themselves, but collected himself quickly and raised his sword again.

"I've got a better idea, missy. How about I escort you to our scenic jail and let you spend a cozy night in one of our beautiful cells, and save us both another encounter in a few days' time? Just so that you cool off a bit, you understand," he spoke through his teeth, digging his blade into her armor again. The Redguard, however, remained nonplussed and instead smiled sweetly in response.

"Well, I see your night in jail option and raise you a visit to the Jarl. That sit well with you?" she retorted, finally, and stepped past him without waiting for a response. "The palace is still on the south of Dryside, right? Excellent," she grinned and started for the Mistveil keep, counting the seconds it took for the pair of shocked guards to catch up to her. She shrugged off a hand that tried to grab her shoulder and spoke loud enough for the two Nords to hear her.

"I doubt you want to imprison an Imperial emissary, love," her voice was flat as she continued towards the stairs leading to the palace, never turning her head to see if they had heard her or were even still following her.

* * *

FUS RO DAH

* * *

An hour later the matter was resolved and their understanding sealed with a warm dinner at the table laden with fine foods. Even though the sustenance of mortals did nothing for the vampire, she still agreed to eat with the Jarl, if for nothing else than to keep up pretenses. After showing her Imperial ring to the woman, the ruler of Riften was quick to dismiss the charges, but the furtive, concerned glances that she had cast about the chamber hadn't escaped the 'emissary'. She filed it away into a secluded corner of her mind labeled 'further exploration at another time' and feigned ignorance.

During the course of their conversation she did her best to answer as vaguely as possible, marking her business in Riften as 'confidential' and 'high-profile'. The vampire knew that it wouldn't appease the Jarl, but she also knew that despite her dissatisfaction, the woman was compelled not to pry. Imperial business, after all, was of high import, and those who bore the symbol of Akatosh on their hand were to be allowed almost free reign; and that was all that the Redguard needed.

She finished her meal as quickly as she could and mockingly bowed to the Jarl as she was leaving the palace, her belly full of mead and food she couldn't digest. As soon as she was out of the keep the Redguard sped up her pace, disappearing into the graveyard to throw up behind the nearest headstone. After wiping her mouth with a fistful of grass the woman stalked to the only tomb in the cemetery, pausing at the entrance to rummage around in her pouch. Fitting a different ring on her hand and removing the Imperial dragon, the Redguard leaned forward to press the shadowmark hiding in plain sight, posing as decoration on the stone crypt.

_It's a wonder that it's stayed hidden for so many years,_ the vampire mused, perplexed, and quickly descended the steps revealed by the fake tomb. Back in Cyrodiil, the Thieves guild was far more careful regarding their hiding place, taking extra precautions not to be found. Here, though… The woman shook her head as she removed the planks covering the shaft and began climbing the ladder.

As soon as her feet touched the ground someone sounded the alarm and in the blink of an eye at least five men and women were pointing various weapons and spells at her, calling for reinforcements. "How in Oblivion did you get in here?" one of them sneered as he pulled tighter on the string of his bow.

"Ah, my darling thieves, let's not do something we'll all regret," the vampire smiled easily and held her hands up as a sign of good intent. "I came to aid you, not harm you," she continued as she took a few tentative steps towards the edgy crowd. She stopped in her tracks as a warning arrow sped past her head, though, and glared daggers at the Bosmer who was already drawing another arrow from his quiver.

"Not a step further, whoever you are," the shooter spat as he took aim again. The Redguard let out a resigned sigh and allowed her gaze to trail over the rest of the would-be attackers.

"Would it help if I showed you this?" she asked, letting the annoyance freely seep into her voice as she lifted her hand to flash them her fourth ring. A woman to her left leaned in to look at the sign on the silver band and whistled, impressed.

"What is it, Vex?" the archer asked, but before the white-haired woman could answer they were interrupted by a loud, commanding voice heavy with Riften accent.

"What are you up to now, you lazy fleabags?" bellowed the red-haired Nord as he made his way through the circle of people surrounding the Redguard. His thick eyebrows quirked as he spotted the instigator of the commotion, but he only gave her an once-over before turning to the woman who apparently went by the name of Vex.

The thief rolled her eyes as she grabbed the vampire's hand and held it up for the Nord to see. "Unless Mercer started handing out these while we weren't looking…" she offered as only explanation and rolled her eyes before walking away and leaving her companion to deal with the Redguard's arrival. The said woman only chuckled at the theatrics of the leaving thief, her eyes following her until she was out of sight.

"Well, well," the said man whistled, eyes still trained on the ring. "I see you bear the shadowmark, lass," he nodded approvingly and finally lifted his gaze to make eye contact. "Unless you're an especially valued customer, which I doubt, you must be a respected lawbreaker. Pray tell, why intrude on us so rudely through the back door when you could've entered from the front, like an honorable thief?"

"Well, for one," the vampire started and pulled back her robe to show her armor, "I really wouldn't like the whole general public to know me as an honorable thief. I don't know who taught you people to steal and rob, but you obviously never advanced to the lesson about hiding or, Nocturnal forbid, **obscurity**," she finished sarcastically and sidestepped the redhead to explore the cistern.

"And I also see that you've fallen on hard times, fellow thief," she called out over her shoulder and came to a stop in the middle of the triple bridge over the water, observing the whole cistern with a keen eye. "This," the Redguard said as she gestured about the chamber, "is **pitiful**."

Before she could thrash their organization and headquarters even more, however, the Nord caught up with her. "Now, lass, it's not fair to judge a thief when he's down. If you are as good as you claim to be, join us and **teach** us, then," he retorted just as scathingly, eliciting a grin from the vampire.

"Sure thing, darling. Why do you think I'm here? You **obviously** need some guidance," she snorted as she motioned to the sorry state of the guild. "I ask you for a lone favor in return, though. If there is anything you could tell me about the influential people and guard patrols in Windhelm, I'd be ever so grateful," she winked at the Nord and slipped past him towards the underground tavern.

"Well, aren't you coming? A good deal must always be sealed with a drink," she yelled just as she was pushing open the hidden door to the Ragged Flagon.


	7. The Name Seldom Spoken

She grabbed her pitcher of mead and sat herself behind one of the small, rotten tables. Pretending that she was still alive had become second nature to the vampire, centuries of practice making her able to stomach almost anything, be it alcohol or food. That didn't mean that she didn't rush to expunge it from her bowels as soon as she got the chance, of course, but at least she wasn't forced into painful convulsions right there on the spot. Smirking into her drink, the Redguard took a long swig as she watched the three thieves who each picked up a tankard of their own and pulled up a chair to sit in.

"So?" the woman quirked an eyebrow as she eyed the surly-looking band of outlaws. "Are you going to tell me what's gotten the Guild so bogged down here in Riften or are you going to sulk and drink yourselves to Oblivion?"

The platinum blonde across the table from her snorted by way of response and chose to sip her mead instead, leaving the two men beside her to answer the vampire. The bald one shrugged dismissively as he, too, focused on the drink in his jug, leaving the red-haired Nord to chuckle easily and shake his head. "Yes, well," he sighed as he rinsed his mouth with the stale drink, frowning at the sloshing liquid before putting in back down on the table.

"You see, lass, if we actually **knew** what the problem was, it wouldn't be much of a problem in the first place," he nodded wisely before he called out to the barkeep. "Listen, Vekel, could you get me something that **isn't** brewed out of Skeever droppings?"

The rather handsome man replied with a few choice words that had the rest of the table smirking as the Nord's face took the color of his hair. They glared daggers at each other until the innkeeper threw his towel at the thief in defeat and left, presumably to bring something more savory.

"Now, where was I?" he turned back to his company and smiled apologetically. "Ah, yes, I remember! Our stroke of bad luck," the Nord sighed and nodded at Vekel who placed an unmarked bottle in front of him with a scowl on his face. "It all started around the time that one of the Ni- I mean one of our best thieves killed the previous Guildmaster," he continued the story as he poured the amber brew into his tankard. "After that, after Mercer took his place, everything started going downhill," his face fell and he quickly downed the drink in his hand, recoiling a bit from the strength of the brew. His eyes widened comically as he stared into the now empty pitcher, apparently at a loss of words.

"You know, Vekel, if you really want to kill me, at least try to be more subtle about it," he chuckled, setting down the empty mug and leaning back in seeming ignorance of the chair's shaky legs. The barkeep kept his mouth shut, but the grimace he was sporting behind the Nord's back was enough to rouse another bout of chuckles from the rest of the table. The red-haired thief simply quirked an eyebrow in good humor and turned his gaze to the Redguard.

"So, lass, what's your story? As our little Vex here pointed out, rings like the one you carry don't exactly grow on trees," he said as he tilted his head to the silver band on her left hand. The vampire smirked in reply as she finished her drink, answering only after she had licked the last drops from the brim of her tankard.

"Believe it or not, I know the Gray Fox," she grinned haughtily, her smile becoming even wider at the anticipated reaction her answer elicited from the trio. Vex, whose favorite past-time was apparently frowning down upon the rest of the populace, snorted and shook her head.

"And I got plastered with Nocturnal last night," she replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Really, if you can't think of a better lie…" the blonde rolled her eyes in annoyance and went to examine her nails, clearly unimpressed.

"I swear, I **do** know the Gray Fox," the vampire laughed, eyes twinkling with rare mirth. "Quite well, in all honesty," she added as an afterthought, lightly tapping her lower lip with her finger.

"Now look, missy," piped up the Breton who had stayed silent up until then "I get that you have secrets to keep – we're thieves, for Nocturnal's sake – but at least be straight up about it. If I'm going to work with you I have to trust you at least as far as I can throw you," muttered the bald man and calmly finished his drink.

"Fine, fine! Believe whatever you want," the Redguard shrugged and motioned to the barkeep for another pitcher. "Does it really matter? Whatever the origins of my ring, you're **obviously** in need of assistance," the vampire said as she looked pointedly at all the clutter and detritus littering the Ragged Flagon. Having emphasized the matter further by digging a hole into their table with her bare finger, the Redguard settled back in her chair with crossed arms and a smug expression on her face.

"Alright, lass, you've proven your point," the redhead held up his hands in defeat and rushed to cover the hole with an empty jug before Vekel could see the damage. "Still, I can't see how much help you can be," the man shrugged resignedly and drummed his fingers on the rickety table. "Unless… unless you'd be willing to do some jobs in the bigger cities on the north and west. As you may have noticed, we're not much of a crowd here, so the contracts in outlying locations rarely get completed. You look like a traveler, though," he smiled charmingly and left the sentence to hang in the air, setting the whole table off in laughter as he blinked his pretty eyes.

"You're observant, I'll give you that," the Redguard smirked as she settled down. She let her gaze travel over the three thieves who were looking at her intently, waiting for some sort of reply. She was having almost **too** much fun, watching them stew in their chairs like that; even the Breton seemed to be a little less apathetic than before. As her gaze bore in each set of attentive eyes, the Redguard weighed her choices. She had a Jarl to kill, true, but associates within the Thieves guild were a very handy contact to have when you needed information, and information was the vampire's sustenance these days. It was what her job was all about, in essence. Sure, it all culminated in a glorious, satisfying assassination, but that couldn't be achieved without months upon months of rigorous work and information gathering.

She hated resorting to buying what she needed, though, because that always meant that someone else just might've had the same idea; and in the shadowy world of politics and murder, knowing more than the next spy was all that kept a state afloat. Information acquired through Thieves guild, however, was much more likely to be possessed by her and her only, making it infinitely more valuable, and, in turn, almost completely reliable. If she truly wanted to pull off Ulfric's assassination without a hitch **and **live to tell the tale, she had little choice, to be fair.

The Redguard chewed on her bottom lip before voicing her thoughts, making sure not to tell the trio anything more than what was absolutely necessary. "Okay. As I told the pretty boy before, I'll be willing to help under a condition or two. Firstly, I'd be taking a cut of the profits made by the contacts I complete. Secondly, I want any and all information you have on the Stormcloaks; their movements, patrols, numbers, protection, type of locks, whatever you have or can get me," she paused to look around the table, but when no-one uttered a complaint, the vampire continued. "Lastly, I want you to get off your lazy asses and start figuring out what went wrong. I know that the civil war isn't exactly helping your **unfortunate** situation, but –"

"But nothing! That's **exactly **what this is! Bad luck!" exclaimed the Breton, interrupting her effectively. "It's not just the hard times; just look at the Great War, for Nocturnal's sake! That was the golden age! Zenithar's heavy sacks, we were practically **bathing** in all the treasure!" The vampire was still looking at the man, rather shocked to see him so lively and excited when he had stayed unflappable throughout the whole evening.

"Relax, Delvin," the blonde rolled her eyes as she squeezed the Breton's shoulder, forcing him to sit down and take a few deep breaths. The Nord smiled ruefully and mouthed 'That's our Delvin' to the Redguard who had finally broken out of her stupor, shaking her loose hair with a small smile.

"Right. Sorry about that," the Breton scratched his head and continued with a bit less zeal. "Anyway, all I'm saying is that it's a damned curse. That's all I'm saying," he made a face at the rubble around them, muttering a few colorful expletives under his breath.

"Don't mind him, he's getting old and crazy," Vex replied dryly, a small curling of her lips the only indication of humor. As the blonde and the Breton scowled at each other the Nord turned to the vampire and shrugged, sighing.

"I have half a mind to blame it all on these two bickering, but then again, I **am** rather attached to all of my extremities, so…" he jibed the pair to lighten the morose mood, but only succeeded in earning a glare from both. The Redguard grinned at their antics, happy to have arrived when she did. They were a tight family – and that was what made an already good guild a great one – but were obviously being thwarted by some ominous external forces. Looking around the place, the vampire was rather inclined to agree with the Breton's theory of a curse, but wasn't entirely ready to voice it yet; she had a few things to check on before she started sharing her suspicions with the rest of the merry band.

"Are we settled, then?" She decided to lead the conversation back to the previous topic, eager to know whether her terms would be accepted. The three pairs of eyes turned back to the Redguard after she interrupted their staring contest, and the Nord spoke first.

"I think we can all agree that you can be nothing but an asset to our family. We haven't got much to lose at this point, truth be told," the red-haired man chuckled bitterly as he gazed around the once proud, bustling center of illegal business and commerce.

The vampire snorted and rolled her eyes. "Glad to see you're so confident in my abilities," she said as she suppressed the unpleasant burning in her stomach. _Yes, well, that's what you get, trying to drink your way through every conversation. Congratulations, Ria,_ she mused angrily as she dug the fingers of one hand into the rotting wood of her chair. Pretending that she didn't hear its squeals of protest, the Redguard spoke up again.

"Listen, I haven't been here all that long, and news about Skyrim is scarce in Cyrodiil," she said and leaned forward. "Why don't you give me a rundown of the important happenings these last years?" asked the vampire, knowing full well that she needed whatever she could get if she was to construct a believable persona for her infiltration in the ranks of Stormcloaks.

Vex quirked a nigh-silver eyebrow at the sudden change of subject, but stayed quiet as always, expressing far more with her face than she ever could with words. The Redguard found the trait admirable, since people who preferred silence over moot conversation were rare and precious. More often than not, folk felt compelled to fill it with words even if they had nothing meaningful to say, and that irritated her to no end. So when she found the extraordinary person who didn't give into that particular impulse, the vampire immediately recognized them as worthy of her seldom given respect.

It was the Breton who answered her, drawing her gaze from the blonde to her right. "Well, missy, I can't say I know what you consider 'important'. Seeing as you meet for drinks with people like the Gray Fox I thought your definition might be a tad different from mine," he threw the barb at her with the same ease as he took another swig from his pitcher, grinning into the mead at his lips. The vampire conceded him the well-placed jibe and waited for him to continue, taking a sip of her own drink despite the burning in her gut; she had to keep busy somehow, lest she dart from the table and puke into the nasty water encircling them.

"In all seriousness though, until the Stormcloaks came along crying for their precious Talos like a babe for its mother's breast, nothing much was going on around here," Delvin shrugged as he wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his leather armor. "People come and go, the trading business keeps dying and no-one's buying anything," he said morosely and swallowed another mouthful of his brew.

"See? We're not the only ones having trouble," the red-haired Nord jested easily as he lightly punched the Breton in the shoulder, eliciting a mock cry of pain. "Still, there's more than that," the man continued as he turned back to the Redguard. "I presume you haven't been in Skyrim for, what, at least ten years? More?" he inquired as his gaze scrutinized her face, and she could see that perennial doubt surface in his dark eyes. That uncertainty that appeared without fail whenever she talked to people too long, too much; the Nord's look was clouded with confusion as he tried to determine her suddenly elusive age.

"Ah, I know it's bad manners to ask a lady her age, but I find myself at a loss," he said finally, abandoning his futile attempt. "Were you even alive when the Great War took place?" he asked sheepishly, hoping to mollify his rudeness by a dashing smile. The vampire, however, chortled with amusement, far too used to the situation to find it offensive.

She waved off his concerns and quipped wryly in response "Well, killing Altmer out of a cradle **is** harder than one would imagine, but quite manageable once you get the hang of it." The dry remark earned her a small smirk from Vex, who, like the Redguard, enjoyed a good, sarcastic, punch-to-the-gut kind of humor. Well, in vampire's case it was more likely to be dagger-to-the-gut kind of humor, but in its essence it entertained the same principles.

"Right. I should've expected that," the man hung his head in mock penance and continued only once the blonde had swatted his arm across the table. Nursing a feigned injury, the Nord resumed. "Well then, since you **obviously** know what it was like with the Dominion screwing around I guess you also know what it looked like **after** the concordat was signed," the thief scowled in understandable resentment, but the Redguard remained quiet, knowing nigh first-hand how the empire of men had no more claim upon the land than the mer.

After a few seconds of pregnant silence he went on "So yeah, everything was and pretty much still is in shambles. The Thalmor prancing around and poking their nose in everyone's business don't make it any easier for the folks, and so nothing improves. All sorts of monsters, men and creatures alike, have begun to crawl out of their hidey-holes and prey upon the desperate masses. Every month you hear about another ransacking by those mad Forsworn in the Reach, or some nasty crew of bandits torching a whole village," the red-haired man shook his head, teeth bared in contempt. The Thieves guild were criminals alright, but they never delved in murder; quite on the contrary, they condemned anybody within the organization who dared do a deed fouler than relieve people of their valuables. Back in Cyrodiil a thief was expelled faster than you could say 'coin' if he ever so much as stole from another member of the guild; but as with most things, drawing parallels between the organization then and now was absurd at best. Times had changed drastically along with the people who lived in them. It was foolish and naïve to expect the same conduct from men and women who knew nothing about the Guild of two centuries ago. The Redguard sighed ponderously as she felt the weight of her true age settle heavily on her shoulders; sometimes it still sneaked up on her how terribly hard it was to settle in a world that was so young and innocent, blissfully ignorant of the horrors the generations before them had endured to provide them with a Tamriel they were born into. The pain in her abdomen flared up again, serving as another cruel reminder that she was of this world, but not in it.

"Don't forget the vampires," the thick Bretonic accent pulled her out of her bitter reverie, breaking the vicious circle of her scorching emotions.

"What of them?" the Redguard inquired cautiously, her previous troubles forgotten as she perked her ears. Delvin opened his mouth to answer, but the blonde was faster, smirking slyly as she interrupted the man.

"They've been terrorizing every town without a twenty-foot wall, that's what ," she drummed her thin, long fingers on the table as she leaned forward. "I'd commend their technique if it weren't for all that grisly slaughter on the side," said the blonde thief as she traced the rim of her tankard with the tip of one finger. "They've finally grown a set of balls, though," she added thoughtfully as she directed her gaze at the moss-covered ceiling. "Five years ago you couldn't find one if you searched with a torch in broad daylight. Now, though…" she trailed off as she shrugged, straightening herself once more.

"Well, at least there's Dawnguard culling their numbers."

What little was left of her color drained from the vampire's face at the words, and she almost gagged right there on the spot. Digging her fingers into her thigh, the Redguard stopped the reflex just in time and willed herself into calm with a set jaw. Her expression did not go unnoticed, however, and she felt a strong arm squeeze her shoulder.

"Are you alright, lass?" he asked cautiously before turning to Vekel. "I told you we'll steal better ingredients, you oaf! Look at what your 'special brew' did this time," he scolded the barkeep, his brow furrowed in disgruntlement.

"Or **maybe** your precious just can't hold her booze," the innkeeper replied snidely and went back to polishing his tankards with a towel that was more likely to dirty them rather than clean them.

The Redguard swallowed an angry growl and cursed at her own stupidity. _Yes, let's drink five pitchers of some dubious drink and see what happens! Brilliant, Ria, simply __**brilliant**__! _When she was sure that nothing would come rushing up her gullet the woman raised her head, lips tightly pursed in discomfort.

"Your friend just might be right," she forced out between her teeth as she rose from her chair, hating herself for admitting any kind of weakness. Wrestling with the muscles on her face until she managed a measly smile, the vampire continued. "That's what working for our noble Empire for years on end will do to you," she chuckled miserably as she nearly stumbled to the shaky railing and promptly emptied the contents of her stomach into the murky waters below.

"Molag's balls," she cursed furiously as she accepted a jug of surprisingly clean water from a lanky hand. That, at least, had no adverse effects on her body, whereas everything else that wasn't blood caused her to throw up like a milkdrinker on his first drunk. "Thank you," she murmured at Vex who was leaning on the unstable woodwork with an amused smile on her pale lips. The Redguard wisely choose to ignore it and headed to the table before the thief could start voicing her amusement in the form of doubtlessly scathing remarks.

"So, you mentioned Dawnguard?" she directed her question at the Breton who was sporting a smirk similar to the blonde's. The red-haired Nord was trying to suppress his snickering in an admirable bout of gallantry, but was failing miserably anyway. The vampire sighed and drummed her fingers on the table until Delvin collected himself and elaborated.

"Well, yes. They started recruiting around Riften a few months ago – they really know how to pick them, too – after reestablishing their headquarters at the half-ruined fortress to the southeast. It's a pretty cute valley, really – with waterfalls and butterflies and all – if you're looking for a nice spot for your **honeymoon**, that is," the Breton snorted in derision and made a show of downing his tankard.

While he was busy wiping the mead off his chin Vex picked up where he had left off. "Not to mention the security of that sorry excuse for a castle," the thief grinned, clearly having taken a long look around the place. "If that's really their headquarters they **must** be suicidal. There's no other explanation for a group that call themselves 'vampire hunters' painting such a big target on their chests and screaming "Here we are, bloodsuckers, come and overrun us in our crumbling, useless fortress!" I swear, it's literally like that. They must be either monumentally stupid or just plain old tired of living," the pale thief cackled evilly after uttering perhaps the longest continuous stream of words anyone of her two fellow thieves had ever heard her say.

After recovering from the shock of hearing the blonde speak so much, the red-haired Nord threw in his two septims. "They **do** seem rather… sloppy, even if it isn't quite as bad as our little Vex likes to portray it. I've heard they even take farmer boys as recruits, despite the fact that everybody knows how dangerous vampires are," he shrugged, obviously not interested in the matter much beyond its impact on Riften.

"Good. Good," the vampire nodded, somewhat less concerned now that she had all the facts. "Well, then, my fellow thieves," she said with a slap on her thigh as she stood up, wrapping her robe more closely around herself. "It's been… interesting meeting you, and I look forward to our continued bonding in highly illicit transgressions," she smirked as she shook the hands of all three. "I'll drop by sometime later this week to pick up whatever inconvenient contracts you have for me," she finished and turned to leave.

"Aren't you forgetting something, love?" The voice of the Nord stopped her halfway to the wardrobe door, and she spun around again, quirking an inquisitive eyebrow. The redhead chuckled as he leaned on the counter of the bar "We know you're competent, we know you're connected… what we don't know, lass, is the name to put to that pretty face," he winked to the exasperated frustration of both Vex and Delvin.

The Redguard looked from the Nord to the Breton and then to the Imperial, letting the suspense build in the stretching silence until she got bored, breaking it with a grin.

"At'Ria," she replied without flourish and left before one of them came up with another question.

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FUS RO DAH

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aaaand, this one may have gotten away from me a bit. :P I thought about splitting it into two, but couldn't find a suitable place, so here you go. I hope it wasn't too long. :) Don't fret, my darling readers, future chapters will be shorter in length again. Unless you prefer them longer? :3

In any case, I hope you're enjoying my story thus far. :D I'd love to read your thoughts about it too! *hint hint nudge nudge*

I know, I know, us pesky writers always poking at you readers to write reviews. It's annoying, isn't it? I agree with you. However, since here I am in the role of a writer and not a reader, I would love to see your opinion, even if it's just a few words explaining what you like/don't like about my story. It doesn't take that much time and means a lot to me. :D (not to mention that it improves my writing, which we would both appreciate, right? ;D)

Ugh, I'm blabbering. So yeah, I'll be keeping these to a minimum, I swear. :)


	8. A Red Guard in the Dawn

I know I said I'll keep these to a minimum, but there's just a few things I would like to remark upon now that we're reaching a rather pivotal chapter.

Remember how I said at the beginning of this fic that I'll warn you when something won't be canon? Well, this is me, warning you. ;D Here I will go out on a limb and presume that at least some of you know the Better Vampires mod (and if you don't I'll explain what it does anyway). I have to admit, it never made sense to me that vampires grew more powerful as they were hungrier (lore/life-wise. It makes sense if you're striving for balanced gameplay. ;) ) So that's what's going to be different in this fic. If I change anything else I'll let you know, I promise. :)

So here you go. Basically my vampires have their abilities at their strongest with a belly full of blood and at their weakest when they haven't fed for, say, a week. (these values vary a bit depending on the age of the vampire, though)

Have fun. ^^

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Pausing only to dine on one of the priestesses in the temple of Mara, the vampire hurried out of Riften under the cover of darkness and – after retrieving her horse from the stables – headed east in a near-gallop. What her new associates had told her had pacified her some, true, but she knew she couldn't rest properly until she made sure that the Dawnguard were truly as loosely formed as the thieves claimed they were. If there was one area of her unlife in which the Redguard would take no risks, it was concerning her staying healthily and jubilantly undead. As long as there was someone out there – a group of someones, to be precise – who could threaten her state of undeath, jeopardize her immortality, endanger her dominance over the breathing creatures of Tamriel; then they were sentenced to die, for the vampire would not tolerate such presence while she walked the same ground.

She had endured far too much and slaughtered far too many to let some zealots with torches and pitchforks hunt her down in their crazy, raving devotion to a god that could grant them but a fleeting blessing. At'Ria spat on such mortals, blinded by ideals they could never comprehend, ignorantly choosing to worship a deity represented only by man-made images and writings. The divines, no matter their number, were far from Nirn, incapable of manifesting incarnate, too weak to do anything but continue to scare men and mer alike into senseless obeisance.

And really, how difficult could it be, destroying a sorry imitation of an order she had already brought to its knees once before?

_Pitiful creatures,_ the vampire spared them a thought as she breezed across the rolling hills on horseback, her loose hair flowing behind her. Despite the direness of the situation all around her, the Redguard felt a genuine smile blossom on her lips and her eyes became coruscant with delight as the trees around her grew scarce until finally the night sky above her revealed itself in its full glory. Masser and Secunda were both in zenith, keeping watch of Tamriel and its mostly slumbering inhabitants as other, less savory dwellers of the night only began their business.

One of the said lurkers grinned maniacally as she stood up in the stirrups, letting a wild scream of freedom tear from her lungs. The northern air whistling around her made the vampire feel alive like nothing else could; not even when she sat back in the saddle and slowed her horse to a slow canter, sighing with satisfaction. This was the beauty of the untamed nature around her and inside her; letting them come together and lending her, for a few blissful moments, the steady thrum of a heart in her chest, the warm pulse of blood in her veins, the burn of the cold on her skin, the taste of the night air around her. When the vampire blinked again, the feeling itself was gone, but in its wake it left a pleasant hum all over her body; not unlike an afterglow after a good, long session of lovemaking.

The Redguard smiled to herself as she led the creature under her down the slope, placing a hand on the hilt of her scimitar just to be safe. If the instructions of her fellow lawbreakers were to be trusted she was nearing the entry into the valley, gazing around for landmarks she might recognize. The last time she had visited the fortress had been to set it aflame and watch the funeral pyre of so many that once presumed to kill her, never returning in belief that she had put the order down for good. Truth be told, At'Ria thought that history would eradicate the Dawnguard on its own, seeing as the order didn't last even a hundred years, and that was many centuries ago in the first place. Shaking her head at the curious (and often irritating) things history chose to preserve, the Redguard slipped off her horse and slapped the valiant steed, sending it home.

Off road, in the darkness, obscured well by trees and shrubbery gaped a crevice barely wide enough for a horse – a **small** horse, that is – to squeeze through. As the vampire neared the narrow passage she smiled at the memories from a different era dancing before her eyes; a younger, less morbid self pushing aside the similarly overgrown plantlife as she struggled to fit through the gap in her spiked armor. She chuckled at the bittersweet recollection and unsheathed her sword, readying herself for whatever might await her on the other side.

The other side, as it turned out, wasn't all that impressive despite its pretty waterfalls and moths (At'Ria presumed that the butterflies were sleeping), so she decided to take a quick nap nestled in the branch lattice of a beech tree. The valley **was** called Dayspring canyon, after all, so looking around during the day seemed much more sensible. Besides, she had been up and running for the better part of the last few days, and even a dead body needed rest.

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FUS RO DAH

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As the vampire woke up she immediately realized the reason behind the name of the vale; here, apparently, the sun shone happily regardless of the gloomy weather the rest of Skyrim was forced to endure. Tetchily she descended the tree, wondering fleetingly if the gorge was under some kind of wretched enchantment that kept the clouds away. Glancing up at the sky, At'Ria stood confirmed in her suspicions; there was not a billow in sight. She grumbled a few words that would make a sailor blush and stalked back onto the road leading up to the fortress.

That sight, at least, cheered her up. It was as Vex had described it; crumbling, scorched and not looking at all fit to house a group of vampire hunters. Seeing the sorry state of the once impressive castle warmed her cold dead heart, doubly so because she could still remember the glorious fire that had caused all that damage. Truth be told, the Redguard was surprised that the stronghold wasn't in worse condition.

With a little more spring to her step At'Ria continued her sightseeing tour of the valley, scrutinizing the lush foliage for anything remotely dangerous or interesting. It seemed that apart from the wild plantgrowth things hadn't changed all that much since her last visit. There was still a host of critters loitering about and fleeing deeper into the surrounding woods as soon as she came close, and the sound still seemed somehow dampened in the seclusion of the canyon, as if the high peaks rising to all sides were preventing any noise from entering the sacred place.

"Screw that," the vampire grinned and shot an ice spike at an innocent rabbit hopping away with all its might, sighing in satisfaction as her spell struck true.

"Why did you do that?" cried a high-pitched voice from atop a small hill to her left and soon a young man came rushing towards her. His big, doleful eyes were staring at her in horror as he stammered "It was just- it was just-" apparently unable to finish, the boy flailed his arms about as if that could convey his feelings. The vampire quirked an eyebrow at the young, innocent soul before her and kept drilling him with that disinterested look of hers until her took a step back. At'Ria scoffed at the uncorrupted purity of youth and went to pick up the dead rabbit.

"I don't know how **you** get by, boy, but I have to eat," the lie slipped easily off her lips as she tied the carcass to a string and threw it over her shoulder, smirking at the grimace that crossed the young man's face at the flat sound. Looking him up and down with an inspective eye, the Redguard added "And what's a milkdrinker like you doing here anyway?" Her voice was dripping with disdain as she spoke, not bothering to bite back her wolfish grin.

The boy puffed out his chest in a hearty attempt to display courage he so blatantly lacked. "I'm here to join the Dawnguard!" he exclaimed with pride and almost crazy a glare in his eyes. At'Ria felt pity stir in her chest for the young man who was certainly fated to meet his end at the hands of a vampire less merciful than she. He was an easy, babbling target as he stood before her, blissfully oblivious to the lethal danger he was in as he continued to rant about how valiant and selfless the Dawnguard were. She was half tempted to end his miserable existence right then and there, if only to spare him the pain of disillusion later on, but held herself back. It wouldn't do to arrive at the doorstep of a vampire hunting order with blood-stained lips, after all.

_Besides, the blathering idiot is sure to distract them and make my infiltration even easier,_ the woman thought to herself as she watched the man with amusement. Letting out a resigned sigh, the Redguard turned towards the castle looming up on the slope and picked up her pace.

"Wait!" yelled the youngling as he rushed to catch up to her, breathlessly begging of her to accompany him to the fortress. The vampire shrugged dejectedly and let him tag along as her soon-to-be red herring, accepting his incessant prattling as her penance for the countless abhorrent deeds she had committed in her long life.

The walk up to the fortress dragged along with a sluggish pace, doubtlessly because of her pleasant company, and by the time they reached the gates the Redguard was almost steaming with frustration. All but kicking the door open, the vampire hurried into the keep in her eagerness to escape from the talkative, nervous Nord.

She was pleased to find the indoors enjoyably dark and the sweet irony of the fact kept her amused as she waited for the leader to finish his chat. At first she didn't bother to listen, but as the word 'Vigilants' drifted past her, the Redguard suddenly started paying rapt attention, her quiet glee forgotten. Eavesdropping on the conversation was a piece of sweetroll, and the vampire was further unimpressed by the Dawnguard's lax security.

_Vex wasn't kidding,_ she thought to herself as she slunk through the darkness to lean on one of the pillars rimming the round chamber. The two men arguing in the middle were the only ones illuminated by a strangely intense dome of light coming from an aperture in the ceiling, and At'Ria found herself leaning forward to observe the interesting apparatus perched on the edge of the opening. She had no idea regarding its purpose, but it looked to be of dwemer origins, which was never a good thing.

The woman, having crawled her way through many a dwemer ruin, hated the race along with all of its inventions that had long gone feral. The unholy machines keeping watch of their destroyed, abandoned cities made exploration needlessly difficult, let alone travel. At'Ria scowled as she remembered her first time stumbling upon Blackreach; it had been riddled with Falmer and all manner of other, even less pleasant underground creatures, slowing her progress down to a crawl as she was forced to fend off wave after wave of aggressive lurkers.

Still, the argument mere meters away drew her attention from idle reminiscing, and At'Ria perked her ears. When the Vigilant screamed for the entire fortress to hear that the rest of his order was dead the vampire barely fought back her cry of happiness. The zealous worshippers of Stendarr, all too willing to fall on their swords in willing sacrifice, had been a thorn in her side ever since being founded. That was scarcely more than two centuries, yet they had managed to disrupt and destroy many a daedric shrine. The ones in Cyrodiil became impossible to visit due to their constant, oh-so-precious vigil, and the vampire had to resort to summoning days in order to commune with her lords. Nothing more than a nuisance, really, but a persistent nuisance nonetheless.

Yet here they were now, apparently decimated by an organized vampire attack that had dealt a killing blow to the order.

_Beautiful,_ the Redguard purred to herself as she peeled out from the shadows and neared the bald kinsman who beckoned her after blowing off the moping Vigilant.

"And who are you?" the still irked man leveled her with a glare, but the vampire remained staid as she returned his gaze from the depths of her cowl.

"I heard you are all about dealing with the vampires," she replied calmly, her voice soft and carrying. "So I thought I'd pay you a visit, see how you take care of business," she shrugged nonchalantly as her gaze swept across the room. "I have to say that this," she smirked and motioned at the cobwebs and refuse, "doesn't look very encouraging."

"You're a smug one, aint'cha?" said the towering Redguard as he continued to stare at her."This is all temporary, anyway. We've only started rebuilding, and the times aren't exactly helping," he grumbled his excuse, finally looking away as he went to pick up something from a rack.

"Here," he threw her something heavy and cumbersome, but the vampire caught it easily and lifted it to eye level in order to inspect it. It looked like a heavily modified sideways bow. Her eyebrows disappeared into the darkness of her hood as she scrutinized the strange device, snorting in disbelief.

"What in Oblivion is this supposed to be?" she tossed the object back at the tall Redguard and leaned back on her chosen pillar.

"It's a crossbow," the man sneered in response as he cradled it to his chest. "And you won't be able to kill those bloodsuckers without it," he added when the smirk still hadn't disappeared off At'Ria's face.

"You don't say," the said woman scoffed and unsheathed her scimitar. "I thank you for the kind offer, but I think I'll stick to these lovelies," she winked at him and let her sword sing through the air as she made a couple of sweeps.

"That's all nice and pretty if you want to impress the crowds, missy, but here we actually see battle and death," he barked, displeased with her arrogant attitude. Then again, who wouldn't be, were they in his place? "I'm sure a court somewhere is missing a jester," the Redguard remarked snidely.

"Ah, stooping so low, so early?" The vampire clacked her tongue, enjoying the provocation far too much. "How do you test your recruits, then? I imagine you can't be too picky," she retorted smoothly, her grin widening at his bristling face.

"Listen, here," the towering man started angrily, but was interrupted by the Vigilant who had been watching the exchange from the sidelines.

"Isran. Isran! I'll take her with me, and we can look into that cave the vampires were so interested in. If she makes it back alive… well, then I guess you've got your answer," the Nord offered before the argument could get any more heated. The two Redguards kept glaring at each other in challenge, daring the other to object. When no-one spoke up the Vigilant smiled and clapped them both on the shoulder.

"Well, then, miss, if you would take out your map so I can mark that down for you," he said as he led her to the side, leaving Isran to deal with the nervous milkdrinker from before.

"I don't carry a map," the vampire said matter-of-factly, earning herself an incredulous look from the Nord. After a few awkward seconds he pulled out his own and showed her the location, but still looked unconvinced in her ability to find the proper cave. He was justified, too; Skyrim was littered with all manners of caverns and lairs for unsuspecting adventurers to stumble on.

"Dimhollow crypt," she murmured softly, rolling the name round her mouth. There was a hint of foreboding in there, along with a smidgen mystery and a generous helping of life-changing. The vampire bit her tongue as she sighed in pleasure; she simply **adored** the type.


	9. Oblivion Hath no Fury

The Vigilant was already waiting impatiently when the Redguard carefully rounded the last blasted snow ditch, of which there were many. From deceivingly shallow-looking powder to obvious deathtraps filled with ice-cold sleet, there was no sure way to tell if the next step you took was going to be your last. It was partially by sheer dumb luck that she arrived at the cave mouth without a sprained ankle – at least she didn't have to worry about frostbite – but selling what was left of your soul to the Daedric princes had its perks after spending a few long centuries serving them.

A terrifying grin split the vampire's face as she whistled the chant of Boethiah, not bothering to stop even when she neared the scowling Nord. He was a Vigilant alright, but that hardly meant that he knew anything about daedra, let alone other 'monsters' his decimated order claimed to hunt. If anything, that made him even more ignorant to the ways of the creatures and people he was sworn to cull. Suppressing a grimace of her own, At'Ria lifted an open hand in greeting, the unambiguous gesture of a peaceful approach. He uncrossed the arms that had been resting on his chest to return the salutation, his disapproving expression transforming into a pitying smile as he noticed that she didn't have a horse.

"No wonder you're late," he remarked dryly as he cocked his head towards the small, sturdy-looking steed tied to a tree not far from the gaping hole amid the rocks.

The vampire simply shrugged in response, not opting to answer and instead lifted an eyebrow in askance as she noticed the two bows leaning on a boulder next to the Vigilant. Seeing her questioning gaze, he offered "Like you, I am not really keen on using that **crossbow** device of Isran's," he said as he threw her one of the bows. "And while I'd love to do nothing more than smash the skulls of those bloodsuckers in with this lovely," he motioned to the menacing warhammer on his back, "I'd rather not give us away immediately."

She hadn't been listening all that raptly, engrossed as she was with the examining of the weapon in her hands, but she had caught enough to nod in approval. The man's reasoning was sound, she would give him that. She had no idea what to expect when they entered the cave, but discovering what both the feral of her kind and the Vigilants were so dead set on finding was incitement enough in and of itself.

_The added bonus of slaying the last Vigilant alive is just a cherry on the top, _the Redguard smirked to herself as she lifted her eyes back to the Nord before her. "I don't suppose you have any spare arrows?" she asked, only half-joking. Had the man informed her of his plan to bring bows beforehand, she would've gladly brought her own quiver packed full of her favorite arrows. Seeing as he had failed to mention any of this despite the ample time they had back at the fort to prepare their assault, she would just have to do with whatever sorry batch he had on him.

She was pleasantly surprised to find the steel tips of the arrows handed to her strong and well-tempered, and the wood used in their construction just pliable enough. The Nord snorted openly at the face she was pulling and clapped the vampire on the shoulder.

"We go about gutting these bastards seriously around here," he nodded to her as he shouldered his own quiver, placing a single arrow on the still loose string. "You coming?" he asked, but when no reply was forthcoming, the Vigilant was forced to turn on his heels and look for the nature of their delay. "We don't have all day, you kno-" he stopped mid-sentence, obviously torn between a laugh and a frown. "What in Oblivion are you doing?" he asked finally, settling on the scowl.

At'Ria looked up from the belt she had just finished adjusting and returned her equally disapproving gaze. "Strapping my quiver?" she retorted, the tone of her voice incredulous. "Some of us actually want to shoot an arrow or two before the enemies get in our face," she added dryly when realization still hadn't dawned upon the Nord's face. Upon hearing that, the man chortled and shook his head.

"Whatever floats your boat, Redguard," he said finally, ignoring the glower that was burning into the back of his bald head.

As soon as they entered the cave their smiles faded away, replaced almost instantly by the hard features of a battle-focused warrior used to being outnumbered and at a disadvantage. They proceeded carefully, checking every turn of the narrow passage for hostiles until they arrived at the mouth of a giant underground chamber. The ceiling dissolved into the darkness above them, as did the far end of the vast cavern. The upside of its size were the acoustic properties that easily carried the amplified voices of two vampires chatting casually about the slaughter of the Vigilants of Stendarr, forcing At'Ria to hide her smile in the shadows of her cowl; this was hardly the time to alert Tolan that she was not at all what he perceived her to be. Instead, the Redguard exchanged a glance with the Nord and they aimed their bows in silent agreement.

Both their arrows struck true and the two vampires were felled before they could even think of sounding the alarm. The satisfied grins on the archers' faces quickly disappeared, however, when two slobbering, aggressive black beasts with glowing red eyes launched at the pair. Cursing her lack of caution, the Redguard hurried to put another arrow on the string. Proving the Vigilant wrong, the warrior succeeded in time to release it into the gaping, salivating mouth of the lunging hound, sending it to the floor with a high-pitched yelp of pain. She quickly grabbed her scimitar, baptizing it in the thick, black blood of the beast as she lopped the head off its thrashing body.

Hearing no sounds of struggle from behind her, the Redguard took a moment to examine the strange creature now that it wasn't Oblivion-bent on tearing her apart. Its skin was black as coal, but the hound itself was rangy to the point of showing ribs as well as the line of eerily sharp vertebrae. Its red eyes were now a dull shade of rusty iron, but the vampire was more interested in the iron band that had slipped off its neck now that the head wasn't holding it in place anymore. She lifted the cruel black metal and observed it in what little light managed to penetrate that deep into the cave.

"Odd," she muttered to herself as she cast it aside, having no further use for the collar.

"If you're done examining that… **thing**, we should move on," spat the Nord as he stepped into her vision. He was now holding the warhammer in the firm grasp of his calloused hands and she could see the same foul ooze dripping from the end that had caved in the other hound's skull. Grateful that breathing wasn't obligatory for her anymore, the vampire rose to her feet and nodded.

"Indeed we should," she answered quietly, sheathing her scimitar again without bothering to clean it; there was plenty more carnage awaiting them in the tunnels beyond.

The next arduous minutes proved her right as she and her temporary companion plowed through vampires, skeletons, spiders and draugr alike. In truth, At'Ria was more than a little surprised that no-one had alerted the leader of this little clan their presence yet; then again, they **had** killed everyone in their way, so it was very plausible that no-one was alive to tell them in the first place.

Smirking at the enjoyable thought, the Redguard pushed open another door and entered, her steps almost brazen until a loud, irritated voice stopped her in her tracks. Listening intently, the woman lifted her hand to alert the Vigilant following close on her heels, and both of them fell completely silent as they eavesdropped on the conversation. When Tolan shifted to try and hear more, one of the potions he was carrying on his belt dislodged from its harness and hit the floor, shattering to a million pieces with a jarring, piercing sound.

"Oh, for the love of…" At'Ria groaned but didn't finish the thought, unsheathing both of her swords instead and charging the three opponents before they could form a strong offense. As soon as she was on even ground with the trio, the Redguard knew she had already won. Even without the sweeping attacks delivered by the Vigilant to her far right, the woman knew she would've eventually dispatched all three. She had to admit, though, that having someone else beside her was practical; if not for anything else than for cannon fodder and focus redirection.

Even the deaths of his torturers could not save the suffering Vigilant who had succumbed to his numerous wounds while she was still busy killing them off, and the agonized expression on Tolan's face was almost enough to make her laugh. She bit on the inside of her cheek, hard, and suppressed a shudder of hunger that ran down her spine as the smell of his blood wafted to her nostrils. Using the last remaining Vigilant as an outlet, At'Ria summoned him angrily as she pressed on, deeper into the cavern.

After clearing out the last of the resisting vampires, the two blood-drenched warriors came to a stop in the middle of a circular plateau. The tracks chiseled into the rock beneath their feet were deep enough have weathered even the cruel decay of time, retaining enough profile for the large braziers set in them to have remained in their spots.

Still, looking at it, the puzzle made little sense. She was fairly sure that her prize was awaiting her in the middle – ancient Nord ruins had the nasty habit of becoming rather dull after a few centuries of exploring them – but the key to reaching it was eluding her with far more ease than she would've liked.

"Maybe that middle pillar has something to do with it?" Tolan spoke after a few long moments, his thoughts obviously following the same ideas. The Redguard approached the said structure carefully, examining the intricate patterns in the stone before placing a hand on the flat top of the pillar.

She regretted it immediately as pain shot through her hand and spread like wildfire to the rest of her body, tearing a scream from her throat. Dark blood spilled from mauled flesh of her palm and the stone drank it in greedily, accepting her unwilling sacrifice and activating whatever dark magicks had been waiting for this moment to come.

The magic wasn't over by far, however; after the violet fire burst to life the vampire watched on in surprise as the hole in her hand mended without any scars, leaving not a blemish in its wake. Had it not been **her** palm that the spike had pierced, the Redguard might've admired the craftsmanship and skill of whoever had made the fine mechanism. In this case, the vampire was appeased by getting away with all of her parts still attached and in working order.

"What in Stendarr's name was that?" asked the Vigilant, as he looked around the platform, his knuckles growing white on the handle of his warhammer.

"I'm guessing some kind of activating mechanism," the vampire shrugged and lifted her gaze from her newly mended hand. "In any case, it doesn't matter. It's these… well, whatever they are, they must be important, so we better figure out what to do with them," she finished, approaching the nearest brazier and pushing the surprisingly cold stone to test it. With a little pressure and a loud, grinding sound it gave in, sliding forward in the grooves.

After a few minutes of laborious pushing and pulling, the two of them managed to spread the cold, purple fire along the pattern carved into the floor, only tearing away their eyes once they heard the tell-tale sound of stone sliding against stone. The Vigilant readied his weapon, his whole body coiled with tension and fear while the vampire simply wrapped her fingers around the handle of her scimitar, looking far more relaxed than the Nord. They approached the hexagonal pillar in the middle, flinching in unison as it stopped rising with a low, echoing thud.

The vampire rounded it first, her mouth parting in a surprised gasp as a woman's body tumbled from the alcove and straight into the arms she raised out of reflex. The Redguard stared, dumbfounded, at the woman in her arms, eyes widened almost comically.

"Serana?'" she blurted out, far too shocked to bite back the incriminating word. Before she could realize that she had given herself away, however, the hazy eyes of the Nord beauty cleared, and in their place there suddenly blazed a fury colder than even the bitter northern winds of Skyrim.

"You!" the woman in question yelled, voice shaking with barely contained rage. At'Ria couldn't even blink before she was sent flying to the floor with a resounding slap, meeting the harsh stone with a curse on her lips.


	10. Like a Vampire Scorned

Disoriented and furious, the vampire let out a string of heinous profanity as she stumbled back to her feet. Tolan hesitated at that, torn between swinging his weapon at the aggressor and berating his companion for the appalling language. That moment of pause was all that Serana needed as she crossed the small distance and kicked the still recovering Redguard in the gut.

The woman in question keeled over in pain, spilling another round of curses in the name of Boethiah as she did so. The Vigilant, still not having learned his lesson, gaped at his supposed ally in horror even as the woman picked herself up and spat thick, black blood on the chiseled rock beneath her feet. She grinned, flashing her tainted smile to the both of them as she spoke.

"Don't you go looking so shocked now, Vigilant," her eyes lit up as her leer widened, revealing the abhorrent nature of his companion to the staring man.

"Foul creature!" he screamed with righteous anger in his voice, but his features gave away the fear eating at his heart. The abomination-hunter heaved his warhammer with every intent to turn her into a bloody mess on the floor, but the third party on the platform interjected before the vampire could even react.

The man's vindictive yell petered off into short, pained gasps for air as he let go of his weapon in a desperate attempt to keep his entrails on the inside, his twitching fingers scrambling across the rapidly spreading red stain on his stomach. Another agonized groan was ripped out of his sore throat as the bitter edge of an ice spike shot though his already massacred abdomen, forcing the Nord on his knees.

The exactor of his torment planted her feet firmly on the stone as she stood behind him, observing the rictus of his features with a sort of twisted fascination before breaking his neck with a single, elegant shift of her hand.

"No-one kills her but me," she said coldly to the fallen Vigilant as she stepped over his still warm corpse. Her gaze was fixated on the Redguard a few paces away from her, beautiful and enrapturing in all its terror.

"I will have your heart, At'Ria," she spat at the other vampire and raised her hand, a red-wreathed viper ready to strike. All of the fatigue she had felt when she first stumbled out of her prison was pushed away to the back of her mind, overruled completely by the white-blazing ire in her eyes.

"And then I will have your head, and your body I will hang from the walls of Volkihar for all the crows to feast upon," Serana went on as the red mists around her hand intensified, almost blinding the Redguard.

"What in the name of Boethiah did I **do** to you, woman?" the accused finally retorted tensing her muscles in preparation for a fight that was closing in faster than a Nord on a tankard of mead. "And more importantly, when the Oblivion did you become a vampire?" the Redguard uttered the one question that had been plaguing her ever since the woman had tumbled into her arms.

The genuine surprise in her voice mad Serana pause, and her poised hand faltered in the air. "You dare tell me you know **nothing** of my fate?" she said in a level voice, too angry to shout anymore.

"Should I?" At'Ria let out a dry chuckle as she wiped the black trickle in the corner of her mouth. "I left after your precious daddy got a bit too zealous, remember?" she, too, kept her voice even, but poison seeped from every word.

"**He** got too zealous?" Serana's mocking tone seared to the bone as she seethed at the infuriating vampire, her spell completely forgotten. "If it weren't for you he would never have lost his mind in the first place!" the fierce Nord balled her sleek fingers into threatening fists, baring her teeth at the Redguard.

"Well, **of course**, it's **my** fault now, right?" the woman in question bit right back, furious with the audacity of the Nord. "Because **daddy** never did anything wrong. The piles upon fucking **piles** of corpses he so **properly** hoarded in the courtyard are just a minor detail, aren't they? Never mind that he sacrificed **fucking** half of his kingdom in his raving obsession to be cursed for the rest of his life!"

Centuries of bottled anger spilled from her dry throat, her own fingernails digging into her palms to the point of pain. Her whole face was contorted in a sneer so full of millennia-cultivated rancor that Serana's previous animosity seemed like a child's meek anger compared to it.

"It seems he **did** get his wish in the end, so the correct term would be death, would it not?" At'Ria added as a venomous afterthought, tapping her blood-stained lips as if she were truly engaged with the idea. The Nord didn't take the verbal abuse for very long though, and spat right back at the Redguard.

"And naturally your **immaculate** **self** had no play in this matter, did it?" Serana snorted and took a step closer. "Your teasing, your boasting, your **very presence**, for Shor's sake!" her voice raised in pitch as she backed the Redguard against one of the pillars lining the platform. "You **dare** deny that you didn't push him, vehemently so, on that mind-eroding path?!" Her yellow-white eyes narrowed in ire as she pressed her prey flush against the crumbling column.

"Do you have **any** idea what you did to my father? He was once a just, good, revered ruler! His people loved him, and he cared for them in turn! It wasn't until **you** came along that he lost sight of what was right and began committing unspeakable acts for his mad goal!" The Nord was teetering on the edge between anger and tears as she gathered the fabric of the Redguard's cloak in her fist jerking her in the air.

The vampire, however, didn't allow the woman to push her around like a puppet, wrapping her strong fingers around Serana's hand in a vice-like grip. "I did no such thing," she ground out between her teeth, boring her eyes into the two yellow orbs opposite. "I was a respected guest of your court and never **once** offered your father that which… tainted me," her voice cracked a little and her nostrils flared as she forced the words past her lips, more unsettled by them than she was by the fist still clutching at her robes.

"He would've found his path to madness eventually, whether I was there or not," she said and went to pry the offending fingers off her clothing one by one, surprised by Serana's lack of resistance. Apparently some of what she had said had reached the woman even in her furious state, rendering her… less-aggressive for the moment. As soon as she was free, the Redguard extracted herself from the perilous embrace of the Nord and took a couple steps back to pick up her scimitar.

The movement pulled Serana out of her dazed reverie, and her burning eyes – now merely smoldering and not blazing anymore – focused on At'Ria again.

"Perhaps you are right," she said, tone suddenly flat and dejected. "But it doesn't change anything. You still left when we needed you the most," for the briefest of moments she could see something else than anger swimming in those dangerous eyes, but it was gone before she could place it.

"Because At'Ria Shahi," Serana let out in a strangled voice as she averted her eyes, finishing almost too quietly too hear, "At'Ria Shahi waits for no man."

The words stung deeper and harsher than all of the previous accusations combined, and a sharp pang of pain in her chest had her biting the inside of her cheek to suppress the groan it elicited. There were things on her mind, things she wanted to say – had been wanting to say for the past three thousand years – but her throat was too dry, her tongue too heavy, her heart too cold.

She swallowed her hurt, though, and sneered again, determined to return the favor tenfold.

"Well, look at the bright side, Serana; at least you get to hate me forever," she chuckled icily, and the Nord pierced her with that terrifying gaze of hers once more.

"You find this amusing, do you?" she retorted, eyes narrowing with newfound anger. Whatever vestiges of amicability that had been lingering in her features were replaced by fury as she continued, pointing an accusing finger at the Redguard. "Can you even **imagine** the absolute **agony** I went through, At'Ria?!"

"Oh, don't be such a crybaby, a little pain is good for character. You can't be a damned vampire without suffering a little," she winked as her lips curled into a cruel smirk. "And I'm sure that old Molag – as the prince of domination and all – fucked you good and deep, didn't he?"

That was the final straw.

"You – " the word came as a whisper the first time, choked out, almost.

Then came the unholy screaming, and the ire, and the crushing, razing force of Serana's raw power as she very nearly brought down the ceiling on them. Her eyes were fire, her words the bitter edge of a blade as she advanced on the Redguard in the middle of the room with the sole purpose of tearing the grinning head off her shoulders and reveling in the death of her one and only sin.

But as she reached the vampire and looked into those nigh-black eyes she found the resolve forged by thousands of years wavering, for they were filled with so much more than the spite and disdain that At'Ria had voiced. There was a wound so deep, so old that Serana could hardly fathom how the woman lived with it; the debilitating pain from many other bleeding lesions in her psyche; and then there was that which ultimately stayed her hand; the sorrow-wrought fondness flickering deep in the black reaches of the Redguard's eyes, laden with guilt and sadness and many other, less conceivable feelings.

As quickly as the maelstrom of spells around them appeared it vanished, leaving a pair of exhausted and emotionally drained vampires standing in the middle of an ancient tomb. The Nord maintained the eye contact for a few precious moments more before severing the disquieting connection and stepping away.

"Leave now, At'Ria, and I will spare your life," her voice was tired as she leaned on the pillar which was her prison for the better part of her life. Her eyes were closed and her forehead furrowed with fatigue, but the Redguard's attention was completely taken by the object on Serana's back. She glared at it with fervent hatred, barely catching the words that had left the Nord's lips. She bit back her cutting remark, the ominous feeling swelling in her chest and the instincts that were screaming at her louder than her own thoughts, opting instead for a reply.

"Don't be foolish, Serana. We have to get out of here, or we'll get buried alive," she said and pointed at the cracks in the old rockface above them.

"There's no 'we' here, At'Ria," the Nord replied as she opened her eyes, but her words lacked proper venom. It was obvious that whatever energy she had left had been drained by their confrontation and despite the terms on which they were, Serana wasn't so stupid as to throw her life away after just gaining control over it again.

"But you and I could find the way out of here… side by side," she finished as she pushed herself off the pillar, stretching her limbs tiredly as she took a tentative step closer to the Redguard. The vampire merely nodded and gripped her sword a little tighter as they set off to find the exit.

Side by side, of course.

* * *

I apologize for the lack of updates, guys, but school's back on track and it's been hectic. _  
I'll do the best I can, but I can't promise anything.

Hopefully you'll enjoy this one. :D

Comments are delightfully appreciated, as always.^^


	11. The Worst Nightmare

As soon as they found their way out of the cave the two vampires stopped dead in their tracks, obviously at a loss of what to do. The last rays of sunlight were scraping the horizon as they faced each other, scrutinizing eyes scouring the unreadable expressions for anything that could give the other away. As they kept the stare going the uneasy silence stretched, gnawing steadily at the Redguard's resolve until her she lost her nerve and looked away from the piercing yellow eyes in front of her.

"Got something you want to say?" the warrior tried to bait the Nord as her lips curled into a scowl.

Serana, to her credit, simply leveled her with a contained glare and resisted the urge to throw herself headfirst into another verbal battle. She tucked an untamed strand of At'Ria's messy auburn hair back into the safety of her hood instead, her fingers pausing on the woman's cold temple as she parted her lips in reply. She pressed them into a thin line without saying anything, though, tearing her burning eyes away from the Redguard's.

"I wish you safe journey to wherever you call home these days, At'Ria," she said softly as she turned on her heel and left without another word, leaving the vampire to clench her fingers at the empty air as she stood there, alone and much too aware of her many flaws. Somewhere deep inside she knew that the shock of meeting Serana again still hadn't settled in proper and was simply lying in wait to pounce on her at her weakest. The truth of the matter was that At'Ria hadn't seen her in almost two thousand years and had never even dared think that she would have the chance again in the first place.

When she had left the court of Harkon Volkihar she believed she would someday return, true, but in her mind it was always her lone figure standing on the edge of the collapsed bridge, gazing down on the castle that had long succumbed to time unyielding. Nothing but the cawing of crows would bid her welcome as she paid homage to a place she once respected; to a woman she once held dear.

To lay her eyes on Serana's features again; the gentle slant of her cheekbones, the fullness of her lips; the wild mane of her hair; it tore open an old scar somewhere inside her, and out poured all the bitter regrets she had forcibly sealed away in the darkest recess of her broken soul.

It was only when the first snowflake pressed a wet kiss to her cheek that the Redguard moved again, breaking the illusion of statue-like stillness as she wiped the cold speck off her face.

"Fuck."

It only took her a few minutes to locate the small, sturdy horse that the Vigilant had arrived with, and she managed to mount the steed just as a snow storm came howling over the ridges of the mountains behind her. She dug her heels into the animal's sides, sending it – well, not **flying** – but at least **moving** across the treacherous, snow-covered ground in her desire to escape the tempest. As the harsh wind did its best to sweep her off her horse the Redguard spared a thought for Serana despite herself; the image of the Nord as she struggled through Skyrim in all its hospitality had her obdurate heart flinching in a bout of half-smothered pity.

_Don't be stupid, At'Ria. She's a damn vampire, cold can't hurt her,_ her inner voice berated her and anger swelled up in her breast again. _Who is she to invoke these… these __**feelings**__?! _it went on, not mindful in the least of the poor creature underneath her as the Redguard pressed her boots into its flesh, harshly staring forth through the swirling snow.

_I am not weak! I haven't been for centuries! I have __**purged**__ these despicable emotions! __**Burned**__ them, __**buried**__ them! I will __**not**__ be that woman again!_ The storm raging in her chest was far more dangerous and terrifying than the one that had come roaring down the mountain; the important difference, however, was that she couldn't run away from herself, no matter how hard she tried.

"Never again!" At'Ria screamed into the icy winds screeching around her as if she could drown out the hurt if she yelled loud enough.

The rest of her journey to Dawnstar was just as painful as the first part, but at least the blizzard stopped following her about halfway to the northernmost port of Skyrim. The roads were as desolate as always during the first months of fall; winter was coming, after all, and ordinary people were too busy collecting the last of their crops to bother with travel. Looking around the landscape, the vampire could understand them easily; the first layer of snow was already covering everything as far as the eye could see, wrapping the whole world in an eerie blanket of silence.

The sound of hooves hitting the iced earth effectively broke the spell and At'Ria was glad that she didn't have to be alone with her thoughts anymore. Observing her surroundings gave her an easy means of escape which she promptly took; anything to suffocate the crippling ache in her chest.

It wasn't until a guard stopped her that she tore her gaze from the Pale, her lips curled into an expression of blatant distaste. She hated being interrupted, but bit back her colorful barb in favor of getting the whole ordeal over with as quickly as possible. In her current state she was wont to behead the man if she spent more than a few moments longer than necessary in his presence, and going around killing people – no matter how much entertainment it provided – was not good for business.

And as it so happened, Tenebrae had business in the north.

So she schooled her face into a somewhat poor imitation of a smile as she turned to face the man who narrowly escaped his premature demise at the hands of one unnerved vampire. The said vampire struggled with her facial muscles until they conceded and curled her lips upward, but her eyes, alas, held about as much warmth as the falling snow.

The guard, perhaps sensing instinctively that his life was hanging by a thread, let her through with so much as a greeting and the customary warning, scuttling away to the side of the road as the Redguard spurred her horse forward.

Even though the sun was nowhere to be seen, At'Ria knew full well that night was closing in, and that elicited a small but genuine smile from the woman. She let the animal underneath her slow down to a trot and then quickly dismounted before the only inn in the port of Dawnstar, tying its reins to one of the wooden pillars supporting the roof. The tavern was useless regarding her… evening meal, perhaps, but there was no better place to find information than the local watering hole; if you knew to ask the right questions, of course.

The violent onslaught of heat as she pushed open the door stopped the vampire in her tracks for a few seconds, but she quickly recovered and slipped inside before the snow could follow her. Her trained eyes quickly found a suitable spot near the serving counter and blissfully far away from the crackling fire in the hearth. She hugged her arms around herself to conserve the pleasant cold she had brought with her and settled in for a long night of listening to rumors.

Thinking back, the nasty weather had actually done her a great service; the people preferred to share a story or two over a few tankards of mead to sitting alone in their homes, listening to the icy song of winter howling on their doorstep.

With the circumstances as they were it didn't take too long for her ears to catch something far more exciting than gossip and old news; it seemed that the whole town was suffering from recurring, incessant nightmares. That effectively grabbed the vampire's attention, rousing her from her seat as she neared the source of the information. She tapped the hooded man on the shoulder, interrupting him just as he started lamenting of the problem to another group of visibly unhappy townsfolk. Saving the drinkers from having to listen to the priest's preaching and earning herself a thankful look from one of them, the vampire faced the man.

"Nightmares, you say?" she went straight to the part that had caught her interest, leaning into the Dunmer's personal space without a thought spared to etiquette or social comportment. With a cough, the priest tried to tell her as much, but the Redguard flat out ignored him and went on.

"Now, if you want to talk about this business somewhere more private, I understand completely. Shall we?" Without offering him much choice the woman took hold of his robed elbow and dragged him into one of the empty rooms. Once they were safely hidden away from prying eyes and perked ears, the vampire continued.

"If the whole town is having problems sleeping than you can be sure it's the work of some insane mage. That, or something even more twisted," she added thoughtfully and tapped her chin as she coursed he many memories in search of something reminiscent of the current situation. The priest, finally seeing his chance, chimed in with obvious relief in his voice.

"I never thought I'd get anyone to help me. Thank Mara!" he almost cried as he clasped her armored shoulder. He shook back his hood and went on, oblivious to the burning look that At'Ria was sending at his impudent hand. "I have been trying **for weeks **to find someone with their heart in the right place. Thank you, stranger! How may I call you?" the priest almost blinded her with his beaming smile, and the vampire pried his fingers off her shoulder as she pointedly replied.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, here," she stopped the nigh-glowing Dunmer before he got any other, crazier ideas. "Before I demonstrate my… upstanding citizenship, I'd like to hear a bit more about this whole thing. Have you located the source? Its hideout? And what of their numbers, if there's more than one?" At'Ria was eager to know the answers to those questions, true, but she was far more occupied with devising a plan to coax some payment out of the mer without chasing him away. The order of Mara was renowned for their sensitivity, but anything powerful enough to drive a whole town to insomnia was worth suffering for, even when the said suffering was being exacted by a whining, goody-two-shoes priest.

The inquiries seemed to catch him unaware, and the subsequent silence left the vampire with a bit of respite and time to think about her next course of action. She had already decided to obtain whatever was causing the men and women of Dawnstar to lose their sleep; the question was only how she was going to do it.

_Ditch the priest and find it myself? Use the priest as cannon-fodder? _the Redguard wondered, remembering how nice it was when Tolan took the brunt of the attacks on their one-way trip through Dimhollow Crypt. There was, of course, the issue of stealth – because the Dunmer looked about as capable of sneaking as the tankard in his hand – but storming a dungeon had its upsides. It was fun, if nothing else.

"Well, I **am** rather certain that this foul magic originates from an abandoned ruin atop a hill just outside the city. The townsfolk call it Nightcaller temple," the priest interrupted her thoughts, looking a fair bit more nervous than before. He fiddled with the hem of his sleeves before speaking up again "I went up there a few weeks ago, and, well…" he trailed off, his body tense as he avoided the Redguard's eyes.

"It seems to be a place of worship dedicated to Vaermina," he finished uneasily, still refusing to meet the warrior's eyes.

"The Daedric prince?" she feigned ignorance despite knowing full well who boasted the name. She had had her fair share of dealings with the Dreamweaver in the past, but she hadn't stumbled upon the Daedra's handiwork in quite some time. Suppressing a smirk, the Redguard focused back onto the Dunmer.

"One and the same, yes," chuckled the priest and adjusted the neck of his robe. "But you seem like a capable warrior, miss, I'm sure that's of little consequence to you," he smiled, but it was strained and didn't reach his slanted eyes like before.

"Quite," the Redguard replied curtly and noted his disquietude, but decided not to mention it. The cause of his unease would show itself in its due time, or he would die before it could matter, rendering the issue irrelevant at the moment.

"But that's neither here nor there, priest. Leave the fighting to me and you are sure to survive the scorching plains of Oblivion itself. A temple of Vaermina and a few of her frenzied worshippers will be a piece of sweetroll," she smirked as she patted his shoulder. "Tell me, instead, what sort of plan you had in mind. If you've been searching for a warrior for weeks now you must have some sort of plan, do you not?" she inquired, deathly serious this time. Contrary to the words that had just left her lips, At'Ria was rather wary when it came to daedric worshippers and their deities. Most she got along with, true, but the princes were annoyingly capricious and, more often than not, plain old evil; anyone who believed themselves even remotely safe when entering their territory was digging their own shallow grave.

"I, ah, believe that explaining would be moot. Why don't I just show you?" he smiled anxiously as he wiped his forehead. "Don't you think it's gotten a little too hot in here? I'd love to step out for a bit of fresh air," the Dunmer continued and almost ran for the door without pausing to see if the woman was coming. The Redguard quirked an eyebrow at the priest's increasingly irritating behavior, but followed him nonetheless.

"Fresh enough for you?" the vampire drawled cruelly as she raked her eyes over the mer's shivering form. The howling wind was playing with his orange robes, barely carrying her words to his ears.

"It is rather chilly tonight, yes," he said through chattering teeth and looked at the warrior in disbelief. "Aren't you the least bit cold?" he asked with wide eyes as he struggled to restrain his flowing cloak. The Redguard simply shrugged in response and leaned onto the sturdy spruce planks of the inn as she cast her gaze at the looming gray clouds in the sky.

"I've been in Skyrim for a long time, priest. I guess you get used to it after a while," she finally offered, not really bothering to come up with a better explanation. If this little detour turned out as she hoped it would, the Dunmer wouldn't live to share his suspicions, if he even had any.

"Oh. Good for you, then," he nodded, shaking like a leaf. "Listen, miss… I say we meet tomorrow morning at the museum and go look at the ruin together. Then we can decide on what to do next. Is that alright with you, miss?" he asked, turning to face the vampire.

"Yeah, yeah, it's fine," she waved it off, but then stopped when a thought hit her. "Did I hear you right, priest? A **museum**?" she asked incredulously as her eyebrows climbed her forehead.

"Well, yes. The Mythic Dawn museum, founded by that Imperial chap, Vesuvius I believe his name was," he replied, just as surprised as the Redguard.

At'Ria's voice was precariously close to a growl as she spoke, her voice hoarse with restrained rage.

"What did you say?"


	12. A Midautumn Night's Dream

**A/N:** Hey guys, sorry for the wait. :) Thanks for all the support you've been showing, you're all great.^^ (you'd be even greater if you left a review with your precious opinion. :D)

Anyhow, to the matter at hand! Seeing as we have now met Serana, I thought it may be interesting to tell this story from her viewpoint as well. I'm going to try it in this chapter, and I'd really appreciate your feedback regarding the idea. Whatever comes to mind, please, comment. ;) I'd love to hear your thoughts about this. :D

Welp, that's it. Now go forth and read, darlings.^^

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FUS RO DAH

* * *

The door very nearly flew off its hinges when met with At'Ria's boot-clad foot, rousing the peacefully sleeping resident from his bed with a start. The man scrambled for the sword leaning on his end table, but before he could even squeal the Redguard had him pinned to his mattress. She bared her teeth as she wrapped her fingers around his throat, her eyes blazing in the depths of her cowl.

"Mythic Dawn?" she asked, her nigh-flat voice in stark contrast to the expression of pure anger on her face. It seemed that she was holding herself back with every fiber of her being, teetering on the edge of unmitigated violence; the one line that she allowed herself to cross all too often.

"Mythic Dawn?!" she said again, this time louder, pressing the Imperial deeper into the rustling straw. "What are you playing at, little man?! Don't you know what these bastards did?!" She finally released his neck as he began coughing and spasming, observing for a moment the blossoming red bruises she left in her wake. The Imperial curled into a fetal position as he gasped for air, peering at his attacker with fear-colored eyes. At'Ria sneered and the man visibly recoiled, fingers digging into the crumpled sheets.

"Please, don't hurt me!" he cried, shielding his face and neck even though the Redguard hadn't moved an inch. "It- it's a museum, miss. Nothing more, I swear!" When At'Ria still didn't react he slowly lowered his hands and cautiously continued, obviously heartened by lack of further aggression. "My grand-grandfather was a member an- and when my father passed away I received his belongings as well. I'm a scholar, miss; I know what the Mythic Dawn did! I built the museum so that people would remember the horrors and not be deceived by Dagon again," he rushed to explain, knowing instinctively that the Redguard was short on patience.

"My family moved to Skyrim decades ago, and I grew up among Nords who know little of the struggle in Cyrodiil when Lord Dagon was terrorizing the land," the man went on, shifting slightly as he gestured with his hands. "I- I didn't mean any harm, miss. I apologize if I offended you in- in any way," he stuttered a bit, obviously still afraid of the warrior that had barged into his house at an ungodly hour. The Imperial flinched again as the vampire growled, scowling at the cowering man before stalking off to look at the display cases.

She ran her hand across the clear glass, the muscles of her face twitching with restraint as she struggled to keep her voice level. Underneath her fingers lay a neatly folded Mythic Dawn robe, the scarlet fabric well-preserved and still glinting with the golden threads of the embroidered sun. Forcefully she withdrew the fingers, squeezing them into nearly painful a fist as she spoke in a slightly choked voice. "It's not about me," she muttered, turning to face the man who had risen from his bed in the meantime, "it's about **the people** you want to remind of these horrors." Her voice turned mocking in the end, but her eyes were still as icy as the weather outside.

"You see... **the people** are stupid. They are easily deceived and even more easily led. Throw the dogs a bone and they'll be happy; men are no better, once you find their bone," she flashed him a toothy grin despite the cold tone of her words. "That is, of course, simply perfect; **if** you happen to be a Daedric Prince. Dagon isn't particularly cunning, see, but he is persistent, and that is enough," she spoke further as she strolled to the next case. Inside was the sole surviving page of the Mysterium Xarxes, the already eldritch text now rendered completely illegible due to faded ink.

_A good thing, too. This shouldn't be on display as it is,_ the woman thought as she passed the box and moved to the one sitting in the far end of the room. When her gaze fell upon what lay inside the woman gasped softly, the sound too quiet for the man to hear. There, before her very eyes, lay the scabbard of none other than Mehrunes' Razor. She schooled her parted lips back into submission as she turned to face its temporary owner, wondering if the man truly knew what was in his possession. Granted, it was only the scabbard, but that alone was worth thousands when offered to the right parties. Internally, the vampire was already rubbing her hands with glee, contemplating all the ways she could sell the precious item.

"Ah, Mehrunes' Razor. I've been trying to find the actual dagger for a while now," the Imperial interrupted her entrepreneurial train of thought as he stepped past her, his previous anxiousness forgotten in a bout of scholarly excitement.

"The legends say it was broken and divided among three members of the people who had sworn to hunt down the last of the Mythic Dawn. They renamed themselves the Keepers of the Raz – "

"Yeah, yeah, spare me the history," the Redguard interjected, clapping him on the shoulder. She had already heard one priest's harangue that night; she didn't have the patience to suffer through another. "I'm sure that a meticulous **academic** **disciple **such as yourself managed to track down the current 'Keepers'," she almost sang in his ear as her fingers dug deeper into the exposed skin, drawing an uneasy chuckle from the Imperial.

"Yes, yes, of course," he nodded quickly as he went to rummage through the drawers beside his bed, returning with a dusty, worn book which he pushed into her waiting hands. "Here is the original… uh, story, and my findings written on the edges. You… you **do** read, don't you?"

The cold look she gave him was all the answer the man needed and he took a few steps back just to be safe, still trying to maintain that twitching smile of his. The Redguard ignored him completely as her eyes flew across the parchment underneath her fingers, drinking in all the information she could possibly garner from the more or less mythified record of past events. Her lips curled in distaste as she tried to decipher the untidy scrawl at the bottom of the last page, but finally gave up and threw the old tome at the Imperial across her.

"What are those names in the end?" she asked, unamused by the poor show the man made of catching the book. He scrambled to find the correct page, squinting at the small text in his hurry to satisfy his dangerous guest.

"Ah, that would be Drascua, Jorgen and Ghonzul, miss," he breathed out in a shaky voice, wiping a small trickle of sweat on his forehead with the sleeve of his night robe. "The first one is a Forsworn wanted in the Reach, Jorgen is a farmer in Morthal and the Orc is said to live in a keep somewhere in Falkreath hol – Where are you going, miss? Miss?!" the Imperial almost yelled after the leaving vampire, but the woman was already out the door and away. She had heard enough to find the pieces on her own, and she doubted that the location of Dagon's altar had changed any since she had last been in Skyrim. It was the nature of her relationship with the said prince that worried the Redguard more; then again, she had always been the type to solve her problems on the go, so she pushed the gnawing concerns out of her mind, dead set on inspecting the Nightcaller temple on her own before her early morning meeting with the annoying priest of Mara.

* * *

FUS RO DAH

* * *

"Sorry, what year is this?"

She felt stupid for even asking the question, but what with all the anger and confusion and fighting and screaming back at the cave, Serana had forgotten to inquire about the most basic of facts. The storm that had caught her soon after parting ways with the perennially young Redguard left her with no time to think, so it was only now, when she had arrived into a larger settlement, that she realized her mistake.

_Even so, I doubt At'Ria would've answered me,_ the vampire thought bitterly as she put on a fake smile for the farmer before her. That, apparently, was enough to convince the man that she wasn't drunk or raving, but simply lost. The Nord tried to reply with a disarming smile of his own, but only succeeded at flashing rows of decimated teeth, almost sending the dark haired beauty into the other direction.

_I guess some things haven't changed_, she smirked internally, hoping that the man would answer quickly and let her go on her merry way. No such luck.

"What's a darling like you doing all alone out here in the marches? Don't you know how dangerous it can be for pretty girls in the middle of the night?" the fair-haired man shook his head as he led her further into the small town. Serana was tempted to ask what the place was called, but didn't want to come across as even stranger than she already seemed; she could only play the 'lost-doe-eyed-girl' card so long before the Nord realized something was off.

When she didn't offer a reply the man stopped in his tracks, pressing his meaty fingers deeper into her arm. She was glad that she was wearing leather robes, else he would've surely noticed the unnatural cold of her skin. Still, the sensation was less then pleasant even with her clothing acting as a barrier between them, and Serana tried to shake off his audacious hand.

"Let go of me," she said warningly when the Nord refused to take the rather obvious hint, but he just laughed, revealing his horrid dental state once again.

"Or what, missy?" His breath was heavy with the stink of alcohol, and the vampire berated herself for not noticing it earlier. She had been overwhelmed by the sudden change in her situation, and the fact that it was At'Ria, of all people, to wake her from her millennia-long slumber, wasn't helping her adjustment in any way.

"You gonna hit me with that fancy **scroll** o' yours?" he laughed again, pulling her from her reeling thoughts. Her eyes narrowed as her temper boiled and she very nearly did just that, but reined the anger back in, staying her hand.

"Let. Go," she ground out between her teeth, leveling the Nord with a gaze that would have sent a sabre cat running away with its tail between its legs. Drunken men, however, typically lacked the self-preservation instinct found in their sober brothers, and the farmer groping her was no different. He leered again, leaning in closer.

"Don't be such a cold bitch, baby. I promise ol' Obern will show you a good time," he waggled his eyebrows suggestively as he thrust his crotch into her side a few times.

His scream surely roused the sleeping townsfolk from their beds, but Serana couldn't have cared less. Her teeth were bared in flaming anger as she pressed the Nord into the ground, pulling harder on his broken arm.

"I warned you, you fat bastard," she hissed and yanked it again, eliciting an even louder cry of pain from the man beneath her boot. "I should cut off your precious prick," the vampire went on as she slowly twirled the arm in its socket. It was becoming apparent that she was reaching the pivotal limit of his shoulder joint by the ever increasing pitch of his screams, but she was too furious to stop.

"I bet that'd teach you a nice lesson about 'showing girls a good time'," she spat and twisted the limb in one swift motion, delighting in the satisfying, sickening crack accompanied by the Nord's pitiful wailing.

_Some things never change, do they?_ she wondered with low-burning rancor as she bid the crying man goodbye with a parting kick to the groin.

Just as she slipped into the shadows of a side alley a few guards came rushing from the other side of the town, apparently not too surprised at the sight that met them. One of them snorted derisively as the other two helped him up "Met your match, Obern?" she slapped the Nord across his dislodged shoulder without a trace of sympathy. "Can't say I'm surprised. It was just a matter of time before one of them decided to return the favor," the guard spoke with pleasure blatantly evident in her voice as the trio led him away.

Serana let out a long sigh of relief as they disappeared from sight, leaning her head on the cold stone pressing into her back. She was still just as confused as before, but at least she had vented some of her anger when she had beat up her would-be assailant. The symbol on the guards' tunics had revealed nothing to the vampire, confirming her suspicions that something had went very wrong with her mother's plan. She was supposed to wait a few years, maybe a few decades at worst, but the heavy feeling swelling in her breast told her that a handful of centuries had to have passed at least.

She squeezed her eyes in an attempt to staunch the flow of tears, but all was in vain. The salty torrent angrily wove its way down her cheeks as she choked back her sobs and dug her fingers into her palms. Everything that had transpired came tumbling down on her shaking shoulders, dragging the vampire to the ground. Her tight cries intensified despite her best efforts, and the Nord beauty let out an angry scream of frustration; she was furious at herself for falling apart; furious at her mother for abandoning her; furious at her father for becoming obsessed with that cursed prophecy in the first place; but most of all she was furious because she couldn't bring herself to be **more** furious at At'Ria Shahi.

_That __**damned**__ Redguard!_ The vampire bared her teeth as she buried her face in her hands, wiping angrily at her wet cheeks.

_This is all __**her**__ fucking fault! Her and her fucking __**schemes**__! _She cursed the Redguard's name in every language she knew, kicking at the dirt beneath her feet. "I'm going to rip her throat out the next time I see her," she spat the vow into the biting cold surrounding her and rose on shaky legs, the twin moons in the clear autumn sky bearing silent witness to the newly born resolve.


End file.
